In Every Brilliant Shade of Blue
by Scientist In Training
Summary: (One-shot collection) Loving Seto Kaiba was never going to be simple, but for Kisara, their little moments together make everything worth it. UPDATE: we had a good run, and there's more in store if you like Blueshipping, just not here. More info in the updates
1. About the story

There is no overarching plot to this story, and there will likely be little to no continuity. It also doesn't really explore _how_ they get together (and believe me, there is definitely a component of Seto being too rough around the edges and fiercely unlikeable where he leaves us in the canon, to make that transition believable). In a way, it's a little bit of a wash. But in another way, I think the most believable way to build up a relationship between Seto and someone else in a healthy, functional way, is to illustrate little moments that happen between them.

In light of the lack of plot, here's my favorite quote about endings:

In our culture, one of the more damaging things we can tell our children is the idea of 'happily ever after'—that you'll find the prince or slaughter the dragon and be happy forever—but that's not true. What happens the day after you slaughter the dragon? You still have to get out of bed. ~Raphael Bob-Waksberg 


	2. Origins

**Notes in general:** I'm not an active part of the Yu-Gi-Oh fandom, but I love, love, love Yu-Gi-Oh. Ever since I first fell in love with the show, I fell super in love with Seto Kaiba. When I was younger I saw him as this tortured, tragic character; now that I'm a little older, I see him as immature, traumatized, and most certainly mentally ill, but certainly not beyond saving. My goal is to write a bunch of loosely connected Blueshipping vignettes that follow Seto on a path of growth, self-discovery, and coming to terms with everything that's happened to him. And of course, the only kind of girl who could handle a Kaiba would have to be pretty kick-ass and, tbh, a little bit mean and opinionated herself :)

I'm a super amateur novice writer, so I would absolutely adore any kind of feedback anyone has for me-in messages, comments or otherwise. I would love to be a bigger part of the fandom and to grow as a writer (since I don't think I'm ever going to get to flex my creative muscles professionally!), and I would _love, love, love_ for someone to talk to about Yu-Gi-Oh.

 **Notes on _Origin_ :** Of course, since Kisara doesn't show up in the modern world in the DM canon, Kisara and Seto needed an origin story. I'll be honest, boy-meets-girl stories are kind of a struggle for me (I've been in two relationships ever, and the current one has been going on for three years). You'll have to take a leap of faith with me that they end up mutually attracted, and dating. I'm terrible with awkward, pre-first-date story lines :(

* * *

It began as a simple, random assignment for a group project on machine learning. Her assigned partner was an anonymous _setok_ , a random handle that meant nothing to her, the user that she was going to be messaging, back-and-forth, until they had something to work with. The topic was pretty straightforward, too: clustering. Clustering _anything_. To work with a stranger, and learn about how to use clustering to generate meaningful results. The exact email read,

 _"kisaram,_

 _Your topic for CENG 251, Introduction to Machine Learning Theory, is applications for clustering algorithms. Your partner is setok._

 _Please contact your partner as soon as possible, as the first deadline for this project is next Wednesday, September 22."_

She strongly suspected that it was an auto-generated email, with an auto-generated topic, and _skaiba_ was an auto-generated partner.

* * *

Kisara arrived at the computer science study room a few minutes too late, with her backpack slung hastily over one shoulder and one hand supporting its' sliding canvas strap; the other hand was gripped tightly around a blonde-roast coffee, an inch of cream and four turbinado sugars, which was mostly empty. Her round, gentle face was flushed and a little bit sweaty, and she awkwardly brushed her pale blonde hair, wilted and stringy from the summer humidity, off of her forehead.

The sight of her partner made her supremely uncomfortable—with his charcoal-colored, neatly fitted jeans, pressed white shirt, and lightweight navy blue v-neck sweater, he looked unusually pristine for the muggy mid-autumn weather. His was plugged in and charging, his briefcase—really, a _briefcase_ , Kisara though momentarily—was laid tidily at his feet, and he had a polished silver coffee mug in one hand.

She sat down, hurriedly unzipping her backpack and juggling her laptop bag to set up her own equipment. In her haste, she set her coffee down a little too hard on the desk, and frowned as it splashed the desk and her light blue tank top. She watched as the stain sank into the fibers of her top, and the top clung to her stomach. She winced, sitting down and readjusting herself quickly.

"Er...hi. I'm Kisara. We, ah, we're working together? You're setok?"

The boy looked up. His face was a little bit intimidating to look at head-on—Kisara's appearance was all soft, rounded edges, while the boy's was sharp and angular, with hollow cheeks and startlingly large, dark blue eyes. "I'm Seto."

She extended her hand over the table, after a brief moment of deliberation, the boy took her hand in his, giving her a firm handshake. Embarrassed, she felt the firm, cool grip of his hand, and realized that hers were a little bit sweaty.

There was a pause as she opened and booted her laptop. She was keenly aware of Seto's unflinching eyes on her as she impatiently fidgeted, waiting for her computer to start.

"So...ah...clustering algorithms." Kisara brushed her hair behind her ears. "I don't have a lot of experience with them yet. Do you, er, have any ideas?"

Seto's voice was smooth, deep, inately polished; Kisara felt as if she were his assistant, instead of his partner and equal. "My interest is in Duel Monsters data. We can look for patterns in popular cards, popular playing strategies, perhaps use that kind of data to generate new strategies and new decks inherited from Duel Monsters champions all over the world."

Kisara blinked. "Wait...Duel Monsters? Like, the card game?" She was vaguely familiar with the card game that was a cult sensation, although it had a strong presence on campus, Kisara was not very familiar with the game.

What she had perceived as a relatively inane comment caused her partner to bristle. "There's lots of meta-data that can be analyzed from a game as complex as Duel Monsters. What's your problem?"

 _What the...?_ Kisara thought. The boy's visage was strangely, oddly familiar to her, although she couldn't place why. _Wait..._

Her eyes lit up with recognition for a brief second, and her mouth gaped open. "Oh, my _god_. You're _that guy._ "

"I beg your pardon?"

She clapped her hand to her mouth. "You're the—the KaibaCorp guy! The rags-to-riches child prodigy genius who decided to turn an industry leader in military technology into a company that made hyperrealistic edgy simulations of fantasy monsters for a card game."

Gleefully unaware of Seto's stiffening posture and grimly tightened mouth, she bubbled onwards, "The one who had that crazy-weird obsession with being like, the _greatest person ever_ at Duel Monsters? Oh my god, who hosted that weird, pompous, megalomanic tourna-"

"E- _nough_!" he snapped, slamming his fist on the desk, sending Kisara's coffee cup rolling off the table. Her eyes widened, and her spine straightened as she jumped to attention, startled at Seto's sudden outburst.

Seto's gaze was absolutely vitriolic, and locked unflinchingly on her. Kisara became acutely conscious of the sensation of the fabric of her sweatshirt against her collarbone, and uncomfortably aware that she seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. She felt her teeth sink into her lower lip, and the slightly sweet taste of coffee and chap stick brushed the tip of her tongue. Her heart pounded against the inside of her chest. Vaguely, she could hear the ticking of the clock, the buzz of fluorescent lights.

Seto was unmoving. Although the air of rage about him was unmistakable, his expression betrayed absolutely no emotion. His thin lips were drawn into a perfectly horizontal line, his breathing was soft and regular, his bright blue eyes were narrowed almost imperceptibly. Unable to hold his gaze, Kisara stared at the space between Seto's Adam's apple and the neckline of his navy blue sweater.

"I...I'm..." Kisara felt as if her voice were disconnected from her thoughts and her body. Her conscience floated up above the scene, warmed its' back with a fluorescent lamp, watched as her shoulders crumpled and posture deflated, and she gripped her face with her hands.

"Dude, _fuck_ , I'm...oh my god, I'm..." Her breathing quickened. She could see slices of the desk, her laptop, her turquoise cell phone, through the cracks in her fingers. She could smell the raspberry hand sanitizer she always used before working on her laptop.

After what felt like an eternity, she heard the soft rustling of a zipper, and Seto's firm, cold, exacting voice sounded from somewhere a few feet above her head.

"I don't have to explain myself to you."

After another eternity, she heard the door slam.

* * *

Nights like this she wished she had someone to talk to. She was staring into the refrigerator, blankly observing the things on the shelf: the bag of shredded cheese she vaguely suspected might be already slimy and covered in mold, the plastic container of pasta sauce she'd emptied out of a can and simmered with a sprig of basil to give it the illusion of flavor complexity, the three half-empty jugs of milk that she had bought, one after the other, after failing to drink an entire half-gallon of milk before it expired. The shelf held a few unopened sticks of butter, a bottle of yellow mustard, and several kinds of alcoholic drinks: a big bottle of pre-mixed margaritas, a container of raspberry-ginseng wine that came in a fancy bottle, several bottles of liquor-infused peach-flavored lemonade. Absently, she grabbed for the raspberry-ginseng wine, tossed the cap onto the stovetop, and sank against the oven, grimacing as the syrupy, burning tingle of wine rolled down her throat.

She hadn't spoken a word since Seto Kaiba abandoned her in the computer lab study room earlier that afternoon; what happened after was foggy. She vaguely remembered putting away her laptop, not bothering to put it back in its' case but merely throwing it into her backpack, desperate to get her interaction with Seto out of her mind. She usually listened to her music on the ride home from campus, but today she sat in the glum, heavy silence, drawing in breath after long, shaky breath as she mired in post-work traffic. That day she'd had three cups of coffee and just toaster waffles for breakfast—on some level, she knew she should be hungry. She also knew that the raspberry wine, deceptively strong despite its' saccharine flavor, would hit her hard, and fast, and maybe she could put some distance between herself and her terrible exchange with Seto Kaiba.

Half a bottle of wine later, and Kisara was slumped against the oven, staring at her dishwasher, swirling the bottle in her lap. Then she heard the electronic _ding_ of an incoming notification on her phone.

Clumbering to her feet, she groped through her backpack to find her cell phone. The notification was from her message thread with Seto:

" _I'm planning to do some research into clustering libraries we can use for benchmarking tonight. I'll let you know what I come up with. It should be trivial to find packages to suit what we're trying to do, but having the time to do the benchmarking properly might be an issue. We can discuss more the specifics tomorrow; I'll have some ideas ready."_

She stared blankly at her phone, read and reread the message. Seto was going to work on the project, apparently. Like nothing happened. She stared, her head spinning slightly from the alcohol.

 _Kisara is typing..._

 _"Okay, sure, that sounds great"_

No, that felt wrong, impersonal, disingenous. She deleted the text, grimacing and shaking her head quickly as if to shake the drunkenness from her head.

 _"Look, I can do that if you need some time off. I'm sorry if I came off a little bit"_

Again, wrong. Delete, delete, delete.

 _"I don't know what happened this afternoon, but I'm really sorry if I was out of line"_

She drew in a long, steadying breath, swallowed another gulp of raspberry wine, and hit the little phone icon next to the name "Seto K" on her screen.

 _Calling Seto K..._

 _Rrrrrring..._

 _…...rrrring..._

 _He's not going to pick up_ , she thought. For the second time today, her mind felt disconnected from her body. She was dimly aware of her heart slamming against her ribcage with a mighty force, but she couldn't feel the accompanying anxiety, the overwhelming spree of thoughts in her head.

Suddenly the ringing stopped, and there was an eerie silence on the other end of the line. She thought she could hear the very faint sound of someone breathing on the other end of the line.

"S—Seto, right? Seto Kaiba?" she gasped out between short, tight, panicky breaths.

More silence.

"I—uh-this is Kisara. Look, this isn't about the clustering algorithm project. I just"-she hicupped and leaned her head against the dirty linoleum floor-"I...can we talk about what happened this afternoon?"

A moment of silence, and then a short, unreadably cold, "What do you have to tell me about this afternoon, Kisara?"

She swallowed a long, shaky gulp of air. "Oh, my god, I'm...I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say. Look, I don't really know you as a person, but you must...I know I must have been way out of line. And I'm really sorry, and I know that you're like, an important guy and I'm stupid and just a student and I was being really unprofessional and I'm sorry and I know that you're never going to forgive me but I just hope that you're not going to remember me as like, this horrible person because I-"

She paused for a moment, hoping that he might interrupt her, but there was only silence on the other end of the line-"I don't want you to think I'm a bad person. And you're, you're a child genius and you have a job that everyone else would kill for, and me included, and I'm _scared_ of you, and I don't know why I felt like I had to make fun of you, oh my God, I'm..." she trailed off, closing her eyes and letting out a deep, turbulent sigh.

The voice on the other end of the line was somehow softer sounding; still brisk, but without a distinct edge of hostility. "We don't have to talk about it anymore. Do you think you can manage to uphold your end of the project?"

She pursed her lips. "Do you...do you _want_ to talk about it?"

Seto's voice was sharp again. "No, I do not. I'll look at software libraries tonight. Get your head together."

 _Click_. Kisara let the phone bounce to the floor, and swigged down another big gulp of wine.

* * *

A few hours later, Kisara had rolled herself into her bed, cocooned into a blue and white quilt, still wearing her school clothes and makeup. The thought of having to look at herself in the mirror to clean her face was appalling. Her head pounded, and she shivered deeper into the quilt nest, studying the stucco patterns on the wall.

Only somewhat conscious of what she was doing, Kisara unlocked her phone, pulled up the messenger app where she had been talking with Seto...

 _Kisara is typing..._

 _"I'm really sorry. I want to talk about what happened. I hurt your feelings and that doesn't sit right with me. I want to make it better."_

From Seto, just moments later:

 _setok: "I am not about to waste our time trying to make you feel better."_

Adrenaline coursed through her body, yet she felt entirely calm.

 _"Let me get you a coffee tomorrow. Before class? After? Can I get you a coffee after lecture, and we could talk about the project?"_

A significantly longer moment later:

 _setok: "That would be fine. I'll see you tomorrow."_

Kisara could almost feel, tangibly, the wave of warm relief that washed over her.

 _Kisara is typing..._

 _"Thank you so, so much. Meet me outside the classroom tomorrow. Whatever you want, on me."_

* * *

Standing awkwardly in the lobby of the lecture hall as her classmates left in droves, Kisara couldn't help but wish that she'd asked Seto to meet her at the coffee shop, instead of outside of class. The sheer volume of bodies brushing past her made her feel immensely uncomfortable, which only added to her tension.

She was trying to make a second impression, trying much harder than when she'd made her first. Her platinum hair was combed and feathered out nicely around her shoulders into shiny threads of silver silk, she was wearing her favorite pair of jeans and wedge heeled boots, and she'd consciously picked her most innocuous navy blouse, the one that offered generous coverage of her soft stomach. Before leaving for campus in the morning she had taken the time to apply a thin layer of shimmery cobalt-colored eyeliner. She tried, very hard, to give off the impression of someone kind, and smart, and professional. She was trying.

As the crowd began to thin around her, Kisara became aware that someone was standing next to her. Turning her head slightly, she was surprised to see an olive-green flannel shirtsleeve at her eye level, and as she looked up...

"Ah! Seto!" She jumped a few steps back in surprise. Seto Kaiba was leaned against the wall, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, staring into the middle distance. Briefly, Kisara wondered why he didn't think to say hi to her.

"I...um...hi. I'm glad you're here."

Seto gave no response except to nod. Kisara gritted her teeth. She'd tried so hard to make a more composed, more balanced second impression only for the unexpected to happen again. She felt her cheek puff out in an unmistakable, autonomic pout, and wrinkled her nose in disgust at herself for being so undignified.

Seto's eyes slowly turned towards hers, and she stared back evenly for a moment before muttering, "Okay, come on. I like the coffee house they have on campus. Follow me." Wincing at the tension in the air, Kisara spun on her heel and headed towards the door without waiting to see if Seto was following her.

She got her answer a few moments later, when she was aware of olive-colored flannel in her peripheral vision. Seto walked with purpose, with shoulders back and long, brisk strides extended further by the impressive length of his legs. Kisara huffed and quickened her pace to catch up.

As she began to lock into Seto's rapid pace, it dawned on her somewhere in the corner of her mind that most people would usually make some sort of small talk, but she couldn't think of anything to say. Now that she knew who he was—sure, she'd made fun of him and she didn't understand Duel Monsters, but KaibaCorp _was_ one of the major employers that many of her classmates were angling for at networking events and job fairs—she felt awkwardly out of place. Seto Kaiba held himself with a certain kind of poise and dignity that came with experience and status, and as of now, Kisara had neither.

* * *

The campus coffee house was a bustling hub of activity, in which folksy music played loudly over the hum of chitchat and the clicking of keyboards. Kisara had been at the school long enough to know the menu by heart, which was written in miniscule, pastel chalk cursive on a blackboard over the counter. Although the droning white noise of the coffee house could be distracting—or downright aggravating, when she was trying to focus—she was grateful, in this moment, that she didn't have to worry about having anything to say to Seto for now; it was noisy enough that her usual speaking voice would be barely audible over the din.

"Small french vanilla cappuccino, please," Kisara beamed to the barista as she reached front of the line. After having spent her sophomore year of undergraduate working at a similar coffee kiosk, Kisara had always made it a point to be as sunshiny as possible to the person working the register; usually the position required dealing with an inordinate amount of crankiness and disrespect.

"Great! For here or to go?"

"To go...and, whatever he's having." Kisara motioned at Seto, who stepped forward to stand next to her in front of the counter.

"Just black coffee," Seto said briskly. His arms were still folded over his chest, and his gaze was fixed somewhere a few feet behind the barista's head.

"Of course...room for cream?"

"No, thanks," Seto responded curtly. Then he nodded, and hastily stepped out of the line, standing impatiently in the open space where customers waited for their drinks to be made. The barista behind the counter raised an eyebrow at Kisara, who offered back a noncommital, equally confused shrug.

Seto's drink came first, as it required minimal work on the barista's part. As the portly, bearded boy on the espresso bar called out Seto's "black coffee, no room, to go!", Seto picked up the cup, gave a nod of acknowlegement to the barista, and turned towards the door. Kisara gaped open-mouthed, wondering if he'd literally taken her offer at face value—she was to purchase him a cup of coffee, and after that she was going to leave him the fuck alone.

Shaken, it took a few calls of "small french vanilla cappuccino to go!" for Kisara to remember what she'd ordered. A little bit dazed, she cupped her drink in both hands and started for the door, equal parts ashamed and annoyed. So, Seto still wasn't going to be friendly, he was just going to milk her guilt for free coffee. As if he needed her handouts.

To her surprise, Seto was seated at an outdoor table, on the periphery of the seating for the coffee shop. As her eyes found him, he raised his arm above the table, a surprisingly friendly, simple gesture that he wanted her to sit with him.

As to why Seto had wanted to sit outside, Kisara couldn't fathom. Although there was a near-certain promise of the sun breaking through the clouds again today, bringing another warm and muggy afternoon, it was currently dark and cloudy outside; a mid-autumn shower seemed not entirely outside the realm of possibility. The wrought-iron seat Kisara shuffled into was cold and carried tiny droplets of humidity.

They sat in silence for a moment. Kisara removed the lid from her coffee cup and pressed her lip against the lip of the cup, letting the sweet, foamy drink trickle into her mouth. Seto held his coffee cup in both hands, gazing softly into the middle distance. Kisara took the moment to take in the whole idea of having coffee with Seto Kaiba, CEO of his own multimillion-dollar technology company. Bashedly, she realized as she studied his angular features, disturbingly large and bright blue eyes, dark hair, and broad shoulders, he was kind of cute.

"So you're a student here." For what felt like the umpteenth time today, Seto surprised Kisara by speaking first. His question sounded more like a statement than a question, and it really was more of the former than the latter—after all, she was taking a class with him.

"Yeah—that's right. I got my bachelor's in Computer Science last Spring, from another university. I'm here as a baccalaureate student, to take some extra classes before applying to grad school." As she babbled on about her academic history, she realized, vaguely, that the information was probably of no relevance to him.

"So, I mean, what are you doing here? I know Domino University is a big school, and there's a lot of super-geniuses that go here, but I feel like I would have heard by now if the CEO of KaibaCorp was a student here."

Seto leaned back in his chair, taking an indulgently long sip of coffee. "That's probably true. After all, KaibaCorp is a household name. But I've come to realize that your peers half as knowledgeable as I would give them credit for. If you kids ever want to get hired, you're going to have to learn how to network."

Kisara narrowed her eyes. "Give me a break. Everyone remembers Kaiba, the guy in the silver trenchcoat who hosted Battle City a couple of years ago. But that guy sort of..." she became uncomfortably aware that _that guy_ was sitting right in front of her, and she had just bought _that guy_ a cup of coffee not five minutes ago.

"...he sort of...he fell off the face of the map."

Seto's expression belied nothing. "That's about correct."

Kisara tipped her head to one side, taking another long sip of cappuccino. "I guess...I was never a Duel Monsters person, really. And I'm not from Domino City. I wasn't here when Battle City happened. But...what happened?"

For a moment, Seto looked almost taken a back. "What _happened_?" he stammered.

She shrugged. "Look, it's going to sound weird, but I looked you up last night. I read about the reigning Duel Monsters champion thing. And, like, Yugi Motou." Seto's face hardened visibly at the mention of Yugi Motou, but she powered on. "I know it's weird to ask, right? But I read about everything. You had a little brother. You built and exploded a tower. And then you disappeared. Are you...are you okay?" She tilted her head, allowing herself to look fully into Seto's eyes. His expression was still unreadable, but somehow softer.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand anything about running a company at eighteen," Seto said finally. His voice was almost forlorn.

Kisara chuckled. "When I was eighteen, I graduated from high school and spent that summer making fairy lights for my dorm room. Do you...do you mind if I ask you what happened?"

He sighed deeply, and Kisara winced, realizing that she was diving headfirst into personal territory. To her surprise, after a few moments, he drew in a deep breath and answered:

"Having in charge a totalitarian, egomaniac, child prodigy, wasn't good for the company image anymore. I took a step back. I went back to research and development." He paused for a quick sip of coffee. "Now I'm here."

"Right...what does that mean, exactly? Are you a student here? Are you going to get a PhD, or something?"

The corner of Seto's lip raised slightly in what Kisara interpreted as a smug kind of smile. "I'm just taking a few courses that interest me, is all. The KaibaCorp board is proficient at running the company. I'm a researcher now. I need to keep up with the cutting edge of innovation if KaibaCorp is going to stay relevant."

She raised her eyebrows, impressed. "That's kind of awesome. Is this your only class this semester?"

His asymmetric smirk was, at this point, almost certainly a smile. "I have a company to run, you know."

"Oh, _sorry_ ," she scoffed, giggling. "I'll try not to forget."


	3. Mokuba

Kisara's first impression of the Kaiba Estate was that it was absolutely _huge_. In keeping with what she was beginning to learn was typical Seto Kaiba fashion, Seto had asked her for her license plate number so he could add her to a list of registered guests with his high-tech security system, as opposed to offering to pick her up or escort her in at the gate. The ornate wrought-iron gate swung open as Kisara approached in her silver sedan, revealing the estate behind the wall.

On one side of the road, there was the most gorgeous lawn Kisara had ever seen. The grass was beautifully verdant, an almost unnaturally dark green. On the other side of the path Kisara was driving, neatly-groomed fruit trees formed a lush, shady grove. She rounded a corner, pulling up to what was presumably a side entrance to the monstrous, white-shingled mansion, and parked under a tall, shady oak tree. Several dozen yards of green grass lay ahead, followed by a lazy, shimmering lake.

Kisara craned her neck to look at her reflection in the rear-view mirror. Only the neckline of her simple white dress was visible, but she knew that it was one of her more becoming looks. Her long, silvery hair was brushed and styled in a loose braid that swept over her shoulder and nearly touched her hip. She knew, empirically, that she looked about as attractive as it was possible for her to look.

And yet, she was anxious. It struck her as unusual that Seto Kaiba's first invitation to spend time with him was not to take her to dinner, or to see a movie, but to invite her to his _mansion—_ but, as she was starting to discover, Seto Kaiba was an unusual, and almost reclusive, character. She still struggled with the cognitive dissonance between the narcissistic, handsome, wealthy playboy image she had pictured Seto Kaiba to be, with the quiet, introverted, and intense boy that she had spent the last few weeks getting to know.

Drawing in a deep breath, Kisara carefully closed the car door, tucked her hair behind her ear, and approached the house. For such an intimidating house, the entrance was plain and unassuming. She noticed with a smile that the welcome mat bore a picture of a Blue-Eyes White Dragon.

A gangly boy in a blue crew-neck sweatshirt that read "DOMINO HIGH" in varsity lettering answered the door. His black hair was messy and a little wavy, but otherwise not unlike Seto's.

Kisara gulped. "Er. I'm Kisara," she said. "I...I think I was going to visit Seto Kaiba?"

The boy's unusually violet eyes lit up, and his eyebrows raised. Awkwardly, Kisara realized that the boy must know who she was, and that she had likely been a topic of conversation at some point. The idea of Seto talking about her, and their... _relationship_...was daunting.

" _Big brother!_ " the boy shouted excitedly. " _There's someone here to see you!_ " The boy smiled at Kisara, and she smiled back, biting her lip nervously.

The echo of footsteps behind the boy heralded Seto's approach. The boy giggled, looking up at Seto. "Seto, _someone's_ here to see you."

Seto nodded. "I can see that. Mokuba, this is Kisara. Kisara—my younger brother, and the vice president of KaibaCorp, Mokuba."

Mokuba promptly extended his hand, gushing with the kind of polite polish that came with being so important at such a young age. Kisara was surprised that Mokuba's easygoing manner was making her even more nervous.

"Come inside!" Mokuba chirped. Kisara followed the brothers into the Kaiba's ornate living room. Tall blue and white ceramic pots lined the entry, shrouding the doorway in feathery, verdant leaves. Inside, Kisara was amused to see an enormous portrait of the Kaiba brothers, sitting together behind the tail of a resting, gently curled Blue-Eyes White Dragon.

* * *

Kisara quickly got the sense that the Kaibas rarely entertained guests. Mokuba continued to watch her with bright, inquisitive eyes; Seto was seated in a black leather armchair, his arms folded across his chest. Noticeably absent were snacks, playing cards, music, or any of the typical pleasantries used to make guests feel more at ease. Kisara felt incredibly self-conscious as she draped her purse across the arm of the sofa, and sat down next to Mokuba.

"Have you guys eaten?" she suggested desperately. She had choked down a carrot muffin en route to the Kaiba estate, having been too nervous to eat properly, but she strongly suspected that there was nothing planned for them to do.

Mokuba shook his head. "I just finished breakfast," he announced. Seto shook his head, but said nothing.

There was a long, uncomfortable pause, and Kisara wrung her hands desperately. She had felt totally at ease talking with Seto on campus, especially during their machine learning project—there, she was in her element. Here, surrounded by the elegance of the Kaibas' home, she couldn't help but feel ill at ease. As students, Kisara and Seto had a lot in common, but driving from her dusty one-bedroom apartment to the Kaiba's residence underscored how different their lives really were.

"So...Mokuba...what grade are you in?" Kisara asked.

"Tenth," Mokuba responded.

"That's nice," Kisara offered. "What are you learning about?"

Mokuba rolled his eyes, and Kisara cringed internally; her questions were taken straight from the book of boring-yet-prying extended family talk. "We only learn about boring stuff at school. But I get to work on projects with KaibaCorp sometimes," Mokuba added.

Finally, something Kisara could relate to. "Really? What kind of projects?"

Mokuba looked ready to burst with excitement. "I've been working on a special project for the Duel Dome. Since a lot of our visitors are beginners at playing Duel Monsters, sometimes they don't know how to choose a deck. So I've been working on a program that gives them suggestions on what cards to pick, and updates based on their preferences as they continue adding cards to their deck."

Kisara's eyes widened. "That's awesome!" she said eagerly.

Mokuba looked at her coyly. "I have a whole team working for me," he bragged.

Seto suddenly broke his silence, side-eyeing his brother with amusement. "His team consists of two junior software developers and our part-time college intern. It's just important for everyone to learn collaborative coding early in their career, Mokuba included."

"Hey!" Mokuba responded indignantly, and Kisara smiled.

"He's right, you know," she offered.

Mokuba mock-pouted for a moment before recovering with a quick, "so, Kisara, are you Seto's _girlfriend_?" He looked smugly at his older brother, who for once looked caught off-guard, his usually stony blue eyes wide and anxious.

"Aaaaaahhhh..." Kisara said, looking pleadingly at Seto. "Umm..."

"Kisara's a friend, Mokuba," Seto said firmly, pointedly avoiding looking at Kisara.

Mokuba smirked. "But Seto, you said that you don't _have_ any friends."

Kisara thought she could detect the faintest trace of pink flushing across Seto's cheeks. "Kisara is...unique," Seto said stiffly.

"She's your _special_ friend," Mokuba responded emphatically.

Seto sighed. "Fine Mokuba. But enough of that."

At this point, both Seto and Kisara's faces were flushed bright red. Kisara could feel her pulse racing through her ears. Seto glanced up briefly, and his eyes met Kisara's; although he looked clearly uncomfortable, there was something atypically good-humored in his expression.

Seemingly content with his brother's response, Mokuba leaned back against the sofa, sighing dramatically. Kisara smiled reassuringly at Seto, who offered her a smirk of acknowledgment. And with that, Kisara felt her shoulders relax. Mokuba was Seto's kid brother, and clearly able to ruffle Seto's feathers, but Seto wasn't truly angry. She let her eyes glance around the room, taking in the ornate crystal chandelier casting glimmering reflections onto the walls, the porcelain Blue-Eyes White Dragon statue lit by its' own spotlight in the corner, the gentle, rhythmic ticking of the grandfather polished mahogany grandfather clock.

Suddenly, Mokuba's birght voice broke through the silence. "Hey, Seto? Can we take Kisara on the boat?"

* * *

"Can I play music?" Mokuba called out over the hum of the motor boat and the gentle sound of churning water. Seto gave a noncommittal nod, and Mokuba turned his bright eyes towards Kisara. "Please?"

Kisara smiled. "Yeah, of course. I don't mind," she responded, leaning back in the vinyl seat. The sun kissed her shoulders, and the tips of her silvery hair were damp with the spray from the boat. She watched Seto, who was focused entirely on steering. Even on such an amenably warm day, he was wearing a black turtleneck sweater that greatly emphasized his angular collar bone and—she noticed shyly—the curvature of his abdominal muscles. She watched as a gentle breeze lifted Seto's long bangs off of his forehead, and she could suddenly see his whole face. She was surprised to notice that his eyebrows were soft and curved, making his face appear kinder and less severe.

He turned to look at her, and Kisara, embarrassed to be caught staring, briefly looked away. When she dared to look back at him, his eyes were still fixed on her, and his mouth was twisted into a faint smile. Kisara smiled back, shyly turning her head, and noticed that Mokuba was repressing a grin, shifting his gaze between his brother and the water. Kisara felt a surge of warmth and camaraderie, and lay her head back, letting the sunbeams drench her face.

It was in that moment when she first thought to herself, _I could get used to this_.


	4. Halloween

**Author's Notes:** I wasn't super happy with the title to this story. I'm bad with titles. At some point, a couple of months ago, when the vague idea of "Seto and Kisara in their early-twenties Blueshipping story" was born, I intended for this to be a more typical, serial, boy-meets-girl kind of story, with a clear timeline and chapters, eventually delving into deeper, darker, mental health kind of stuff. I had a couple of scenes that I really wanted to include, though I wasn't sure where they would fit per se, in a file called _extras_. I gave up on the idea of having a linear plot (or...a plot...), the whole piece is just _extras_. So now you're looking at _extras_ :)

Everyone needs a little bit of Halloween blueshipping, right? Hope you enjoy :)

* * *

KaibaLand's version of Halloween was nothing like Kisara had imagined it would be. The whole park was lit in a warm, flickering yellow glow emanating from giant holographic jack-o-lanterns taller than she was. The whole park smelled faintly of popcorn and cinnamon; the food vendors were specially stocked for the occasion with candy corn-flavored white cocoa, giant iced sugar cookies in various festive shapes, and green punch served in plastic Erlenmeyer flasks. Young children, loaded with sugar and adrenaline, filled the amusement park; the air was full of the happy chatter and shrieking and giggling of kids.

Kisara was pleasantly surprised, but confused nonetheless. When Seto had invited her to KaibaLand to spend Halloween, she had expected a night of cheap jump-scares and gory haunts. She also had not expected the entire park to be full to the brim with young children, and—as far as she could tell, spare the KaibaLand staff—nobody older than sixteen or seventeen.

Seto, wearing a suit and appropriately candy corn-striped tie, was seated on a bench, typing furiously at something on his phone. Sitting next to him was Mokuba, holding a ghost-shaped sugar cookie and waving cheerily at her. Kisara took a seat next to the younger boy.

"It sure seems busy tonight!" she remarked, watching two children zoom by in a high-energy game of tag.

Mokuba smiled and nodded enthusiastically. "Halloween is one of the biggest days here at KaibaLand. We close the entire park to the general public and have kids from the local orphanages and foster care programs come to visit for free. A lot of times the kids don't get a chance to trick-or-treat, or celebrate Halloween at all."

Kisara's stomach twisted. It was easy to forget that the wealthy brothers used to be orphans, a fact which both Seto and Mokuba talked about freely. Judging by Mokuba's elated expression, he was elated to have the opportunity to give back to the less fortunate.

Mokuba's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Seto doesn't like to visit KaibaLand," he said softly, his smiling violet eyes trained on Kisara. "He doesn't like to admit it, but he gets scared of big crowds. He does a lot of his speeches, his entrances, in weird ways because he gets scared of getting trapped in a lot of people."

Kisara nodded, mulling the idea over in her head. Seto grunted his disapproval softly to Mokuba without looking up from his phone, and Mokuba's eyes widened a little bit.

"But Seto _always_ comes out to KaibaLand on Halloween. This was his dream, from way back when we were little." He nodded importantly. "He told me so."

* * *

"You never told me about your secret soft spot for children," Kisara glowed. A half-hour or so after meeting up with Seto and Mokuba, Mokuba had headed off to ride roller coasters, leaving Kisara and Seto alone. The pair were walking down a path lit by giant jack-o-lanterns lining the path, and strings of jack-o-lanterns that crisscrossed overhead like holiday lights.

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Seto responded evenly.

Kisara frowned, hoping that she hadn't offended him. It was still difficult for her to suss out when Seto was irritated, and when he was just being...Seto Kaiba. She timidly extended her hand towards his, brushing the back of his hand with her fingertips; she was mightily relieved when he took her hand into his, and he looked at her with a rare kind of softness in his eyes.

"When we were kids, back in the orphanage, after our family abandoned us, I promised Mokuba that someday we would have enough money to open a park for kids just like us," Seto confessed.

"No kidding," Kisara responded, feeling her eyebrows raise from the intensity in Seto's voice.

"That dream almost got lost so many times along the way. But KaibaLand was meant to exist," he said.

"That was sweet, that you told that to Mokuba when you were kids," Kisara said. "He's a good kid. I think he really looks up to you."

Seto's face darkened. "Mokuba's been through too much already," he said vaguely. "When we were little, I promised him a good life. I intend to make good on that promise."

"I mean..." Kisara gestured at the gorgeous scenery that surrounded them. "I can't _believe_ how lucky Mokuba is to get to be a part of a place like this."

Seto nodded, but there was something different about him. Later, Kisara would come to understand that there were times when Seto would get so lost in thought, in the dark memories of what had already come to pass, that even a thousand holographic jack-o-lanterns couldn't bring him out of it.

* * *

Kisara yawned, resting her head on the soft leather armrest of the sofa in the Kaibas' living room. She, along with Seto and Mokuba, had stayed at KaibaLand until every last child was accounted for. She had watched, feeling an odd, bittersweet kind of tug at her heartstrings, as Seto and Mokuba posted themselves like sentinels at the exit gates of KaibaLand, handing out silver foil-wrapped pieces of chocolate shaped like ghosts. She had sat on a bench, watching the unending stream of children glow with warmth as they took treats from Seto and Mokuba, at the bright, hopeful pairs of eyes that looked up at her boyfriend, and smiled until her cheeks hurt.

Now, the three of them were sprawled across the spacious upstairs living room of the Kaiba mansion, while some B-list horror movie played from a cable channel in the background. Mokuba was wrapped in a navy blue-striped afghan, texting from his cocoon on the rug. Kisara was curled up on one side of the couch, and Seto was lying on the other side, propped up to a forty-five degree angle by pillows, typing something furiously on the laptop balanced on his lap. A half-empty bowl of cinnamon kettle corn, leftovers from the busy night at KaibaLand, lay abandoned on a coffee table.

Drowsiness tugged at Kisara's eyelids. The couch suddenly felt like it had very powerful magnetic properties. Kisara had never spent the night with Seto before, but she certainly hadn't imagined that their first night together would be spent like this. _And yet_...Kisara thought with another long, deeply satisfying yawn, _falling asleep here right now feels so_ right.

* * *

Sluggishly, Kisara became aware of a warm hand on her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open tiredly, and she turned her head to find herself staring into Seto's bright blue eyes. The boy smiled, putting his other hand around her hip and adjusting her body so she was leaned against his shoulder. "Doing okay?" he asked softly.

Kisara blinked sleep from her eyes. Apparently, Mokuba had passed out on the rug, using his sweatshirt as a pillow. The lights were off. At some point, someone had muted the television, so it was nothing more than a softly flickering glow in the room, bathing Seto's face in blue light.

She couldn't muster the energy to speak much louder than a whisper. "Tired..." she said groggily.

"Kisara, it's five-fifty-three in the morning."

 _Ahhh, morning!_ Kisara bolted upright, her thoughts still sluggish with exhaustion. "Ah. Sorry...I fell asleep."

Seto snickered. "I can see that."

She closed her eyes for a moment. "Do you want me to go to home?"

Seto wrapped his arm around her shoulders, squeezing her arm gently. Too tired to sit upright, the momentum carried Kisara's head onto Seto's chest. He was still wearing his white dress shirt and candy-corn tie, though it was loosened significantly at the top. "You can stay here, if you'd like."

Kisara's eyes were already closed again. "Mmm-hmm. I like that," she muttered. Seto gently laid her down on the sofa, putting his arm around her stomach.

"'Night, Seto," she muttered sleepily.

"It's already morning, Kisara," Seto responded, sounding amused.

"It's...oh my _god_ , whatever. You haven't gone to sleep yet. Go to bed, Seto." Kisara faintly heard Seto mumble a sarcastic response, but she was already asleep again.


	5. Birthday

**Notes** : It was Kaiba's birthday yesterday! For some reason I thought it was the 29th because I'm a terrible Kaiba fangirl despite my love of Kaiba being about eleven years strong now. So I'm late by a day, but hey, it okay.

The first is a short piece I wrote tonight; the second was from a very early iteration of this fic. It's written in present tense for some reason, but I figured I'd throw it in, since it _was_ a Kaiba birthday story :)

Reviews would absolutely _make my week_ , you guys. I love writing as a hobby, but I know that there's a billion and one ways I could improve. Please let me know your thoughts, even if they aren't super eloquent or well thought out 3

Enjoy + Happy (belated) birthday Kaiba!

* * *

 **First.**

"Well, what do you _usually_ do for Seto for his birthday?" Kisara asked. She and Mokuba were sitting in the Kaibas' well-lit den, each holding an ice-cold can of soda.

Mokuba looked uncomfortable. "Seto doesn't like to make a big deal out of it. I tell the cook to make sure to make filet mignon and truffle risotto. That's his favorite meal."

Kisara gaped. "No cake? No ice cream? No meeting to go over _the numbers_ that turns out to be a surprise party with ice cream cake?"

Mokuba shrugged. "Ionno, sorry."

* * *

Kisara almost hadn't found out that it was Seto's birthday. Roland, driving a fairly inconspicuous gunmetal-colored sedan, was parked in the garage under her apartment at nine-fifteen; Seto had recently begun picking up Kisara so they could go to class together, which she greatly appreciated, because it meant that she didn't have to find parking. Their new routine had been going on for about a week now, just long enough for her to be beginning to get used to it. She tossed her backpack into the car, sidling into the backseat after her luggage.

"'Morning, Seto. Roland," she said. Prior to a week ago, Kisara had never been taken anywhere by a _butler_ , she was only barely familiar with the meaning of the word. Yet she was already growing accustomed to Roland's self-effacing presence; she wasn't sure if she had ever heard him speak before being asked a question.

Not today, however. Roland's deep, gravelly voice sounded from the drivers' seat. "Do you know what day it is, miss?" he called back to her.

Kisara shook her head. "Uhhhhh. We have a review session for our midterm next week after lecture today," she offered hopelessly.

She could hear Roland's playful smile in the inflections in his voice. "It's Mr. Kaiba's twenty-fourth birthday today, miss!" She craned her neck to catch a glimpse of Seto's reaction in the rear-view mirror. His dark blue eyes betrayed nothing, and there was absolutely nothing about him that would suggest to her that anything was different.

Kisara's eyes widened. "Oh, happy birthday, Seto," she said, feeling a little flustered. "Ahhh, I can't believe you didn't tell me. I don't have anything for you."

"That's how I prefer it," Seto replied smoothly.

* * *

"Maybe we could all go out for dessert?" Kisara suggested to Mokuba. "There's that place that serves the nice fondue. Maybe we could get a reservation since it's a Tuesday night."

Mokuba nodded. "He might like that," he said finally.

Kisara sprung to her feet, glad to be given a direction. She had spent her morning in class feeling vaguely guilty that she hadn't known it was Seto's birthday-even though he had insisted that he didn't want a fuss to be made over the occasion, she felt nonetheless that it was part of her duty to do _something_ to celebrate.

"I'll call. Do you have a phone charger, or something? I forgot to charge last night."

"Probably in Seto's office, he has like a million cords. Down the hall," Mokuba added.

Kisara flounced towards Seto's home office. Currently, Seto was at his official office on the thirty-eighth floor of KaibaCorp tower, or maybe he was in the research and development basement, or maybe he was having lunch with an important client—at the very least, he wasn't home. She swung open the heavy double-doors, marveling in the natural light streaming from every angle into her boyfriend's home workspace. Her own cluttered desk, littered with empty diet soda bottles, old study guides, and eraser dust, was a far cry.

A port with what appeared to be dozens of USB outlets was connected next to Seto's desktop computer. As she searched for a cable suited for her phone, her eye drifted to a white sheet of paper, folded neatly into thirds, with _Seto_ written on it in cobalt ink.

Curiosity got the best of her, and she delicately reached for the piece of paper. It felt like an ordinary sheet of printer paper, with something inside. Very carefully, her heart pumping with the guilty sense that she was intruding on something personal, Kisara opened the folded sheet. A piece of postcard-sized canvas paper was neatly tucked inside. There was a drawing on the enclosed paper—two boys, one with brown hair and a blue sweater vest, one with shaggy black hair and a green track jacket, were paused in the middle of a chess game, staring brightly out of the scene, surrounded by a fascinated audience.

Cautiously, Kisara examined the picture closer, her heart skipping a beat when she realized that the boys in the drawing were, unmistakably, a young Seto and Mokuba. The person who drew them had taken painstaking efforts to capture every detail—the young Seto's bright eyes perfectly captured Seto's essence in dozens of watercolor strokes of azure, slate, and cerulean. Kisara felt like she had unwittingly stumbled onto something sacred.

Gently laying the drawing on the desk, careful not to smudge the artist's careful work, Kisara turned her attention towards the sheet of paper in her hands. Neat, shimmery cobalt letters were scrawled on the inside of the paper. She brought the paper closer to her eyes, squinting to read the tiny, compact print:

 _Seto,_

 _I know that you don't want to have a big deal made about your birthday. There's just a couple of things I want to say._

 _Remember this picture? It was taken in the orphanage, on your ninth birthday. They gave everyone cookies and made everyone hang out in the day room to celebrate, but you just wanted to play chess with me._

 _We always spent your birthdays just you and me. I fed you your steak the year after Death-T. You probably don't remember that. When we were planning for the KC Grand Prix, and we had all those things to do all day long, we ordered a pizza and we ate it in your office at KC Tower._

 _This year we have Kisara, too. I can't believe we're sharing your birthday with someone else! It's weird to think that things are changing. But I'm glad that things are changing in a good way, and you seem like you're doing better, and happier._

 _I love you, big brother. Happy birthday._

 _Love,_

 _Mokie_

* * *

 **Second.**

The girl flops across the bed, stretching out her arms in front of her. She smiles mischievously, rolling over onto her back. "Oh, my _god_ , you're going to take forever. Hurry up."

A tall, brown-haired boy enters the room moments later, holding an ornate glass bottle and two stacked cups full of ice. He is still wearing his work pants, but his tie is loosened, and the top buttons of his dress shirt are undone. He sits down on the bed next to her; she scurries up and puts her head in his lap.

"Kisara."

"Yeah."

He sighs, brushing her pale hair out of his lap. "Can you _not_ get your hair into the glasses? Please?"

"Oh, whatever, _sorry_. So are we doing this, or what?" She eagerly reaches for a bottle that the boy has set down next to him on the bed, then holds it in her hand, shaking it gently back and forth.

"Dude, _this is awesome._ This is like, a bajillion-dollar bottle. Come on, come on, come _on_." She pops open the bottle and pours an inch-or-two of amber liquid into her glass. She balances the cold cup between her legs as she pours whiskey into the second cup, and hands it back to her boyfriend.

"Seto Kaiba's first drink. I feel like I'm witnessing the, like, beginning of an era."

He takes the glass from her, stares at its' contents indifferently, swishes it in a circle so the ice clinks against the sides of the glass. "Why, exactly?"

She giggles again, resting her head against his shoulder. "Because, like, I always imagined you as one of those _dark, brooding types_. Sitting in your giant empty office in the rain, with the thunder behind you, drinking a glass of like, really expensive whiskey."

He meets her gaze, and his lips turn upwards, just slightly, into a smile. "Well, you thought wrong then."

"Yeah, I did. Okay," she lifts her glass into the air, "well, cheers!"

The glasses clink, and the girl puts hers to her lips, knocking it back in a single swig. It burns—she can feel it searing its' path down her throat and spreading flames across the inside of her stomach. She shakes her head slightly, and looks over at the boy next to her, who is staring at her with a look of disbelief.

"I don't think you were supposed to do that," he says, raising an eyebrow at her. "Are you going to be all right?"

She rolls her eyes and wraps her arm around him. "So like, you are going to take _foreeeeeeever_ to finish." Her eyes follow him intently as he cautiously lifts the glass to his lips, tilts it, and takes a small sip of the liquid inside. He makes a face, winces, and slams the glass down on the bed.

"You know, I don't...I don't enjoy this."

She smiles, pours herself a little from his cup, swishes it around in her mouth. "You know, that's the thing. I feel like everyone is like, _lying_ when they say they actually enjoy the taste of whiskey. Or like, any alcohol. You know?"

He looks at her disdainfully. "Kisara, it's a _thirty year old scotch_. Roland gave it to me for my birthday. You're not supposed to be-"

She cuts him off, rolling her eyes. "Oh my god, _what_ , actually _enjoying it_? What are _you_ going to do with yours?"

He looks uncomfortable for a moment, then sets the glass on his night-stand. "You know...I don't know. Just forget it."

"So like, all you guys own is a bunch of like, apple juice and Mountain Dew," she reports. She is holding a bottle of each in her hands. "I mean, in all reality, what does it even matter, so like-" she trails off and twists open the Mountain Dew cap. It chokes violently, spitting white foam onto the bed.

" _Kisara. Careful_ ," he says harshly, swatting her hand away from the duvet. She rolls her eyes and clumsily empties the soda into the glass.

"Okay, yeah, this is gonna be better, right. Tell me what you think." She shoves the glass into his hands, and he takes another cautious sip.

"It's fine. Look—whatever. Are you going to be all right?" She's standing over him, arms folded, frowning.

"I'm like—I'm ruining your birthday, or something, aren't I?" Without waiting for a response, she launches again, in a high-pitched, rapid-fire, slightly slurred voice. "I'm like the worst person ever, right? Like are you having _any_ fun today? Like I waited outside your dumb stupid office for three hours with a bunch of muffins and you told me you weren't hungry when you finally got out of your dumb stupid meeting, and Mokie made us go to that place with the mac and cheese that he likes, and oh my god, I'm totally peer pressuring you into drinking." She buries her face into his shoulder. "I'm the worst. I'm so dumb. I'm—I'm so sorry."

She feels a gentle pressure on her back as he scoops her into his arms, and she snuggles into his chest, sniffling a little bit. "You don't—you don't have to do anything. Oh, god, I'm sorry."

She feels a peck on the side of her head. "It's okay."

* * *

They lie in bed, him on his back, her curled up against one of his arms. Moonlight streams in from an open window, illuminating a sliver of his face in shades of soft and glowy. A somber autumn wind brushes against them, and she snuggles deeper under the covers.

"Seto?"

He sighs softly. "Yes?"

She pauses, trying to make the words come out tactfully. "The drinking thing. Is it like, a childhood thing?"

"Excuse me?"

She sighs. "Okay, sorry. I don't really know how to put it. Is it a Gozaburo thing? Were there like...bad experiences in your past?"

A moment of uncomfortable silence stretches between them. In her head she imagines the worst, starts rehearsing ways to backtrack: _okay, you know what, never mind, let's just go to bed, sorry I'm the worst girlfriend in the history of the-_

"No, it's not a Gozaburo thing," he says finally, definitely. "Gozaburo never drank. At least, I don't...remember him drinking. It wasn't a problem." She can feel him shudder. " _Drinking_ wasn't the problem with that mother _fucker_."

Another moment of silence. She gulps. "Is it, like...is it a _Yugi_ thing?"

"Kisara, _what the hell_."

"Okay, geez, sorry I asked."

Silence. Tense, awkward, bitter silence. "...is it, though? Did you have some kind of like, drinking problem after the whole... _Yugi thing_?"

He exhales deeply. "I did not have a drinking problem after the ' _whole Yugi thing_ ', Kisara. I have never been into the ' _whole drinking thing_ '. I've never been to a goddamn party."

"Oooooooohhhhhhhh." She inhales deeply over the word, stretching out for a good five seconds.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks. His voice is a little bit accusatory.

"It means—you're mad that you never did the normal teenager thing. Alcohol is like, your proxy to be mad that you were never part of the normal crowd. You're bitter because you think everyone else did something and you didn't. You were alone, because you had your _big important job_ and you know, the _whole Yugi thing_."

All she gets back is a grunt.

"Okay—look, okay? So you spent your teenage years being mad about someone else being better than you at card games and taking care of your little brother and running a company. I mean, seriously, high school parties are kind of stupid. College parties are even worse. Either the cops show up, or someone ends up in the hospital, or the neighbors threaten to report everyone to the police, or like, it's just stupid."

More silence. The rough equivalent of four shots of whiskey is beginning to wear off—she can feel her inane words bouncing around the inside of her skull, the precursor to a morning migraine.

"I'm sorry you felt like you were alone."

"I _am_ alone, Kisara."

"Oh, _what the fuck._ No, you're not. You have Mokie. You have me."

His voice is tense—almost tense enough to waver, or maybe it's just her imagination. " _I don't have friends, Kisara_. Since we've gotten together, you've been _alone_ , too. When was the last time you saw one of _your_ friends? I'm a big black hole, and I'm alone, and now you are, too."

She sighs, brings herself closer to him, rests her head on his shoulder. "Have you ever considered that I never really liked people?" she asks finally.

She pauses to kiss him on the cheek. "Seto, _I don't really like people._ I never had a lot of friends. I never needed a lot of friends.

I'm sorry I brought it up, okay? I should have known better than to bring up the past. So, I'm sorry."

He huffs.

"Let's just go to bed."


	6. Destinies

**Notes:**

Apparently, on Tumblr, SetoKisa/Blueshipping week is this week and _a real thing_ and I am _so excited oh my goodness_. So if my nonsense fanfiction can be considered a contribution to the fandom, or even contribute a little bit to this apparent phenomenon that is Blueshipping week, I am over the moon.

This one has been sitting in my drafts for a long time now, because it was inspired by a quote from Isac Asimov's _Nightfall_ (below) which has stuck with me since I read _Nightfall_ for English class three years ago. I think it has something to do with how it's phrased...I think it's beautiful 3 Although I felt inspired to do _something_ with that inspiration, I wasn't exactly sure how to make that make sense. Not that the story has anything to do with _Nightfall_ (although you should, most definitely, read _Nightfall_ ), but I'm happy with the result, like I managed to do my inspiration justice. Whether or not that's worth anything is debatable, haha.

Thank you _so so so_ much to people who reviewed/interacted/favorited/followed this story! It means the absolute world to me. I love writing enough to be content with just shouting my stories into the void, but it feels so much better to have an audience. And as always, I would be eternally grateful for any kind of feedback, reviews, messages, etc :)

Enjoy!

* * *

 _"Through it shone the Stars! ...Thirty thousand mighty suns shown down in a soul-searing splendor that was more frighteningly cold in its awful indifference than the bitter wind that shivered across the cold, horribly bleak world." ~Isaac Asimov, Nightfall_

* * *

The air was crisp; Kisara could see her breath in silvery puffs of smoke against the moonlight. Nestled deep into the Kaiba estate's grove of fruit trees was a marble bench. She sat down, shivering, raising her hood around her ears.

Seto sat down beside her, gripping both sides of the bench with his hands. His eyes were pointed up towards the full moon, which cast striking shadows on his pale, angular face.

"There's something I never told you," he said, after a moment.

Kisara frowned, placing her hand over his. "Oh...kay. What is it?"

Seto's gaze was still focused straight ahead. Kisara snuggled her cheek against his arm, staring up at him as he watched the sky. "I went to Egypt, before I...disappeared," he said.

Kisara kicked at a loose pebble on the ground. "Okay."

"This is going to sound ludicrous. I've never told anyone. I don't know if even I believe it."

"You can tell me anything. I promise."

"I saw...things. Hallucinations, maybe. Or holograms." Seto's voice was an eerie monotone. "I was lured to Egypt under the pretenses that...I was part of some kind of ancient cycle of reincarnation. That my destiny was intrinsically linked to Yugi Motou's. That we had met, long before, in ancient Egypt."

Kisara exhaled slowly, watching a thin stream of opalescent smoke dissipate into the cold night air. "Alright, I'll bite," she said, narrowing her eyes slightly. "So what happens next?"

" _Really_?" Seto's voice was a little bit incredulous. "You're going to believe that nonsense?"

Kisara shrugged. "I don't know. Crazier things have happened."

"Do you have examples?"

She rolled her eyes. "Not really. But I'm willing to believe. So you and Yugi Motou are eternal spirits, fated to be reborn again and again, into each others' lives."

He pursed his thin lips. "Don't be absurd."

"I'm _not_!"she said indignantly. "I'm just listening to your story. Is that it?"

He took a long, unsteady breath. "This...incarnation...of me. He had a lover."

" _Ooooooooooooooooh._ "

"I'm not done. She was a priestess. She looked just like you."

Kisara couldn't contain a short, startled laugh. "No shit."

Seto turned his focus to her. "Again, I...I don't know. I'm inclined to think it's all bullshit, myself. But she...she looked _exactly_ like you."

Kisara snorted, finding it difficult to contain her disbelief. "Really."

Seto looked hurt. "Okay, forget it. You're right, it's bullshit. Never mind." He looked away, staring forlornly into the trees. Mentally, Kisara berated herself fiercely; Seto rarely showed anything like vulnerability, and she hadn't truly intended to ruin it.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You just...kind of caught me off guard," Kisara offered, tentatively wrapping her hand around Seto's shoulder.

"I'm serious. I didn't mean to be mean. I just couldn't believe it."

Seto nodded slowly, and Kisara noticed his shoulders visibly relax. "I know it sounds absurd, Kisara. And I would still be inclined to think it was all just a lot of nonsense. But..." his voice sounded hesitant.

Kisara was keenly aware of how tense Seto was; she could almost see him crackling sparks of cold white light, pure raw intensity, into the dark. She was painfully cognizant of how tenuous this moment was: one wrong breath, and it would be ruined, and Seto would close off, never to mention the subject again.

"But...what?" Kisara asked at last, holding her breath anxiously as she waited for the answer.

Seto inhaled sharply. "I want to believe that everything that happened in Egypt was just a hallucination. I don't know if I'm some reincarnation, and I don't care. I don't dwell on the past." His voice was shaky with intensity.

"I don't want to _care_ what I saw in Egypt. But I can't explain it. When I saw you, I _knew_."

Kisara blinked slowly, mulling the words over in her head. " _Knew_ what?"

Seto's eyes were fixed on something far away. "I don't care about making friends. I don't need people to validate me, who I am, what I do. Attachments will only stand to slow you down; the only thing that matters is to keep moving forwards."

The sentiment might have stung Kisara if she weren't so transfixed by the raw emotion in Seto's voice.

"But you're _different_. And I don't know why, and I can't explain it. I don't believe in fate, and I don't care about souls. But somehow, I feel _connected_ to you.

That's the word. _Connected_. From the moment I met you, I was drawn to you, and I wasn't sure why. I couldn't understand why I felt so _connected_ to you."

She felt like she should have an opinion, or at least something to offer, but Kisara's mind was somewhere else, replaying the moment they had met. She was almost sure she hadn't felt an instant connection between her and Seto, at least not in the traditional, romantic sense. But still, it defied common sense how she had ended up here, side-by-side with Seto Kaiba, especially after their botched first encounter. And it especially defied common sense, Kisara realized, how little she questioned how she had ended up here—almost as if she had, somehow, always known that everything was bound always bound to happen.

Silence stretched on between them for a moment. The wind rustled the trees slightly, whisking strands of Kisara's hair away from her face; she could see the strands glow like silver threads of gossamer in the moonlight.

Kisara rested her head against his shoulder. "Can I ask a question?" she asked.

Seto said nothing, but nodded softly.

"Was she pretty?" Kisara teased.

In an uncharacteristic display of affection, Seto wrapped his arm around her waist, inching Kisara closer to him. She giggled as she felt his cold lips press against her cheek, and a warm hand turning her face towards his; their lips met. "She was beautiful."

She sighed contentedly, closing her eyes. "Okay, then. I'm okay with that."

The cold and mighty splendor of the stars poured down on Seto and Kisara as they sat motionless together, as young and curious students, as mighty and powerful and ancient immortal souls.


	7. Slow Dancing

_Notes:_ This was from a prompt for SetoKisa week on Tumblr! The idea of SetoKisa week was _super_ awesome, that there's a lot of people who all like the same ship :)

I've been following writing prompt blogs, writing little pieces of things when I get inspired to, etc etc. Basically I'm just really glad that I started this project, it's fun to do something creative, which is something I don't get to do in my regular life, unless I make special time for it.

As always, but it bears repeating: please feel free to write a review, send me a message, stop by my dumb Tumblr, anything! From what I understand at least, the Yu-Gi-Oh fandom is a great, very passionate group of people and I am easily intimidated (it took me two months to have a full conversation with everyone in my lab, guys) but I'd love to get to know you better 3

* * *

The sky was covered by a thick blanket of heavy, ominous-looking rainclouds. The faint glow of city lights emanated from the distant horizon; otherwise, the sky was completely dark. The highway, dwindled down to two lanes to cover this lightly-trafficked stretch, neatly parted the tall, dry grass, which rustled quietly in the pre-storm wind.

Twin headlights appeared over the top of a hill, heralding the arrival of an unassuming silver sedan. Inside, Kisara drummed her fingers idly against the wheel, sighing softly to herself. The passenger seat beside her was reclined all the way back, where Seto was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling with long, steady breaths.

It had been a long day. Kisara had insisted on coming with Seto to a conference five hours away, because it was the national summit on gaming technology, and Seto was on a panel about immersive virtual-reality games, which was an especially intriguing topic. Unfortunately, Seto had insisted that he didn't have time to stay for the full three-day conference, and was only interested in attending the day that he was on a panel, which happened to be the only day Kisara had an 8am class. After class, she drove straight to pick up Seto and drive them both five hours out, through the quiet expanses of the plains, to the convention center. After all was said and done, the plans for KaibaCorp's new augmented reality eyeglass equipment generated quite a commotion, and Seto was bombarded with questions from excited fans and gaming enthusiasts for hours after the panel before Roland managed to sneak the two of them into the private parking garage. Seto, drained from the stress of the panel and interacting with avid fans, promptly fell asleep the moment he and Kisara put the convention center into the rear-view mirror, and hadn't stirred since.

Grumpily, Kisara looked at the gas meter on her dashboard—she had a little more than a quarter-tank of gas, which meant, on this lonely stretch of the highway, that she should start looking for a gas station. She sighed as she scanned the highway signs, noting the sign that said _'Next amenities: 25mi'_. At least they had plenty of gas to make it that far. She leaned back against the seat, resigning herself to another half-hour or so of driving before she would be able to stop.

Next to her, Seto lay peaceful and unmoving, only semicoscious and fully oblivious to Kisara's weary frustration. He was exhausted. Seto hadn't slept all night for preparing for the panel—Kisara had wandered out of his bedroom at 3am, looking for a glass of water, and found him in the den, wearing glasses and a navy blue robe, and poring over a thick packet of paper.

* * *

"Can't sleep?" she asked blearily, rubbing sleep from her eyes and crawling onto the couch alongside him.

Seto had looked up from his packet of papers. "It's the god damn panel," he retorted.

Kisara yawned deeply, resting her head on his thighs. "All the people? You're nervous about the people?" she murmured drowsily, closing her eyes again.

Seto sighed, setting the papers down next to him. "This is my first major public appearance since the KC Grand Prix, and we're using it to debut our newest innovations. If this doesn't go well, it won't bode well for my company."

Kisara extended one arm, sleepily searching for Seto's hand to hold. She settled for resting her hand gently on his forearm. "Mokuba believes in you," she reminded him softly.

Seto's voice was shaking. "I know," he said finally. The pair lay like this for a minute, with Kisara half-asleep in Seto's lap, and Seto staring grimly into the middle distance. "I can't let him down tomorrow."

* * *

The car turned lazily into the gas station, which was lit by dim, droning yellow lights. The prices were twenty cents higher, she noted bitterly, than they would be even at the most expensive stations in downtown Domino City, but it _was_ the only gas station within a _twenty-five mile radius_. She gently pulled the car to a halt in front of one of the pumps, leaning into the backseat to scavenge for her purse.

Seto, roused by the sudden deceleration, yawned loudly. "Where are we?" he mumbled, rolling onto his side to face Kisara.

Kisara was digging through her purse, trying to find her wallet. "We're stopped for gas. We're still probably three hours away from home."

Seto grunted tiredly and closed his eyes again.

* * *

Kisara rolled her car to the edge of the gas station parking lot, where the glare of the lights was a little bit softer. She reclined her seat backwards, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. It was probably better to rest for a little bit than to die in a fiery car wreck...

"Wha's going on?" Seto slurred quietly.

Kisara stifled a huge yawn. "I'm gonna pass out," she muttered back. "Twenty minutes. I promise."

She could hear Seto's voice rise slightly with indignation. "Mokuba," he said, somehow managing to sound both sleepy and obstinate.

She sighed. "He's at a friend's place. They said it was fine if he stayed the night. We don't have to pick him up..."

" _Mokuba_ ," Seto repeated stubbornly.

Kisara groaned, not bothering to mask her frustration. "Okay, fine. But I have to wake up, or we're both going to die before we can pick up Mokuba. Come on, walk with me." Summoning all of her remaining energy, she swung the car door open, inviting in a gust of brisk air. Seto made a displeased noise, but a moment later, his car door swung open as well, and a shivering Seto Kaiba grabbed her hand and thrust it, clasped in his, into his coat pocket.

They stared together out into the sea of dead, colorless grass. The gas station appeared to have sprung up out of nothing from the expanse of the rolling prarie; aside from the bumpy dirt road that connected the highway to the gas station, there wasn't a path in sight.

"Some walk," Seto remarked.

Kisara said nothing, still staring into the endless fields. Something had to happen, she decided, or she would never be able to get back into the car. And yet, the idea of walking around the parking lot sounded all too depressing.

Suddenly, inspiration struck her; she gasped quietly, drawing Seto's attention. The harsh blue light of her phone temporarily illuminated her face, and then the opening notes of a power ballad began to play. She tucked her phone into the kangaroo pocket of her sweatshirt with a self-satisfied grin on her face. "Dance with me," she invited Seto. The dim amber gas-station lights could almost be candlelights, save for the dull fluorescent humming. The sound drifting from Kisara's phone was muffled and low-quality, but it had a gentle beat to it that was still discernible. She lifted herself onto her tiptoes, clasping her arms around Seto's neck. Hesitantly, Seto wrapped his arms around her back, and she felt his chin gently tuck her head against his chest.

They swayed slowly from side to side, roughly to the beat of the music. Kisara could practically already hear Seto's snarky remarks about the moment— _this song is just cheesy pandering, this is dumb, this isn't real dancing_. But for now, Seto was silent, shifting his weight from one foot to the next with her. She could feel the gentle rise and fall of his breath.

The air was chilly, and the breeze was refreshing, like a splash of cool water. A sense of tranquility washed over Kisara, and she sighed contentedly, peacefully observing her surroundings. Other than the attendant who was probably inside the tiny, dark-blue mini-mart not much bigger than a bathroom stall, the gas station was deserted. The dirt road that leading back to the highway was splashed with the yellow light from the gas station before disappearing into the darkness. On either side of the road, tall, dead grass seemed to sway in time with the beat of the song.

The song was familiar to her, every word, every chord, every subtle harmony. She had used to listen to it in high school, lying alone on her bed, imagining listening to the song with someone who loved her. She never quite pictured it like this—at a gas station, with high-tech CEO Seto Kaiba, after midnight on a near-abandoned stretch of highway—but the moment was unusually perfect. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, losing herself in the soft and unplaceable smell of Seto Kaiba—cottony and musky and familiar. The warmth from Seto's body and the swelling chorus of her cheesy old high school song enveloped her, and she let herself fully disappear into the moment.


	8. Burning the Midnight Oil

Seto Kaiba was well-accustomed to spending late nights working in his office. He was not, however, used to Kisara's version of an all-nighter, which equated to something between a work session and a sleepover. Sighing, he recalled the conversation he had with Kisara that afternoon...

"What's up?" Kisara asked. She was sitting on the corner of Seto's huge mahogany desk, with her sneakers dangling several inches above the ground. At first, she had been a little bit timid spending time in Seto's office, maintaining a timid and awkward air of a newly-graduated student going in for a first job interview; Seto's impressive office, perched at the top of the lofty KC Tower downtown, was a stark reminder to Kisara that her boyfriend was a powerful man, and she, meanwhile, was still a student.

Seto had barely looked up from his computer screen since she'd come in to spend and hour or so with him between her classes. His head rested on his palm, and he sighed mightily, sending strands of Kisara's silvery hair fluttering.

"You're busy," Kisara said sardonically, in response to Seto's non-reply.

Seto looked up, looking vaguely annoyed. "You're right," he responded cooly.

Kisara sighed. "All right, sorry. I should have called before I dropped by. What's going on?" She leaned forwards to view Seto's computer screen. A Unix terminal was running in the corner of the screen; front and center was a slideshow presentation in the works.

"Meeting tomorrow?" she offered sympathetically. Having never held an important position before, she had limited experience with presentations, but her experiences were bad enough.

Seto nodded grimly. "We want to collaborate with a gaming software company in Sweden. They specialize in open-world games, where players can explore and create elaborate fantasy worlds. Combined with our state-of-the-art virtual-reality technology, we think we could create _the_ most comprehensive gaming experience in existence." His blue eyes lit up as he talked, and Kisara smiled to herself. Seto was nothing if not intense, and his passion for games was unparalleled. His genuine enthusiasm was the thing Kisara most admired about Seto, though she rarely got to see it in action; to watch Seto Kaiba talk about games was to watch him coming alive.

"That's awesome," Kisara said emphatically. "Why would anyone ever want to live in this reality again?"

"That's the idea," Seto said, and his steely facade cracked a little bit.

"What's the catch, then?"

Seto sighed. "Representatives from their company are flying in tomorrow from Sweden. I'm supposed to entertain them, then pitch them my passion project."

Kisara rested her hand on Seto's, which was still hovered over his mouse. "You're nervous, then," she said.

"That would be an understatement." Seto grimaced and refocused his attention on his computer screen, and Kisara frowned sympathetically. She was beginning to understand the extent to which Seto dreaded interacting with strangers, which made her feel somewhat flattered that he had bothered to get to know her. She wasn't sure if the aggressive teenage genius Seto had personified a few years ago had been his coping mechanism for dealing with situations that vexed intimidated him to no end, or an artifact of a traumatic past and deeply troubled mind, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer. Only one thing she knew was certain: like the plague, Seto avoided the public eye. His social media presence was run by the KaibaCorp marketing team, he seldom appeared at public events, and all of KaibaCorp's major releases over the past few years had been revealed online. Kisara knew that the presence of others made Seto nervous, and felt a twinge of pity when she realized that the boy's jaw was firmly clenched, and his hand was shaking slightly.

"Hey," she said gently, lifting Seto's hand from the mouse and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'm loaded down with work tonight, too. I could come over. Keep you company." It wasn't strictly true—while she had some projects that could use her attention, there was nothing that couldn't wait until tomorrow—but since she couldn't help Seto directly, she at least wanted to volunteer her presence.

Seto blinked slowly. "All right."

Kisara grinned. "Okay, it's a date. How do you usually do your all-nighters?"

"What?"

Her voice was drenched with excitement. "There's time for me to make us some iced coffee—not _cold brew_ , but I can do infused iced coffee. How does vanilla bean-orange-clove iced coffee sound?"

Seto's voice was cold and tense again. "This isn't a slumber party, Kisara."

Kisara pouted. "I know. But listen," she added, more gently, "your all-inclusive build-your-own virtual reality idea kicks ass. And you know it. You've got to lighten up. Just a little?"

"I don't understand the meaning of that phrase." Seto's response was drenched with sarcasm, but his face looked a little bit amused.

Kisara swung herself to her feet, launching off of Seto's desk and landing with a gentle _thump_ onto the rug. "Class ends at five. And then I have to make the coffee. See you at seven? Can we order dinner?"

"Seven. See you then." Seto's focus had already returned to his work.

* * *

One thing Kisara had forgotten about Seto's office: it lacked a second desk. It did have a large leather sofa, on which Mokuba was lounging, reading something on his phone. Seto's desk _would,_ theoretically, have enough room for two if he didn't have two giant monitors, but of course he did. Kisara would have been annoyed if she didn't understand Seto Kaiba well enough to know that he, most likely, had legitimately forgotten in his frenzied state that Kisara would need some place to work.

"We can set you up in the conference room," Mokuba offered, watching as Kisara twirled an absentminded circle in the middle of Seto's office.

Kisara shook her head. "It's okay. I came here to keep Seto company." Mokuba sat up, giving Kisara room to sit next to him; she gratefully obliged, sinking her head into the backrest of the soft seat. "Do you usually come here when your brother works late?"

Mokuba nodded. "It's mostly boring, though. But Seto doesn't really like me being at home by myself all night." A shadow flitted across his face, and Kisara remembered what she had discovered the time she searched for ' _Mokuba Kaiba_ ' on the internet—in the thick of Seto's teenage years, it seemed that Mokuba had been kidnapped almost every other week. It made sense, suddenly, that Seto would be so overprotective of his fifteen-year-old brother as to not let him spend a night alone, even in their well-protected, security-patrolled mansion.

And so it went. Kisara retrieved her laptop, balancing it carefully on her knees as she logged into her work server. The tiny white text on the black terminal screen made her feel listless and exhausted already. She pulled up a half-finished script, pondering whether it was really worth the trouble of optimizing her code, and sighed.

"Do you have any work to do?" Mokuba asked, interrupting Kisara's train of thought.

She yawned. "A little bit. Mostly I came to keep Seto company."

Mokuba shrugged. "I'm hungry," he said, looking hopefully at Kisara.

Kisara turned her head from Seto, who was working very intently on something and wearing large headphones, and Mokuba, who was staring at her with an unreadable expression—some cross between bossy, entitled teenager and hopeful, pleading child. Seto looked so deeply involved in his work that Kisara was afraid to bother him. She was afraid to disappoint Mokuba, her boyfriend's beloved little brother, as well.

"Ahh..." Kisara said reluctantly, "Is Seto okay with me taking you out?"

Mokuba rolled his eyes, looking annoyed. "I'm not a _baby_ , Kisara. I'm _fifteen_."

Kisara grimaced. "That doesn't really answer the question." She knew enough about Seto and Mokuba's relationship to know that she didn't fully comprehend the extent of Seto's protective instinct for Mokuba; she knew better than to test limits where Mokuba was involved.

Mokuba crossed his arms over his chest. " _I'm so bored_. You're an adult, right? Can't you ask him? Please?" His voice was starting to sound shrill, and Kisara flinched as the tone brought back memories of her own immature high school temper tantrums.

"All right, I'll ask," she resigned, crossing the room hesitantly towards Seto. Thankfully, detecting movement towards him, Seto looked up and removed the headphones as Kisara approached.

"Mokuba wants me to take him out for something to eat," Kisara said, leaning her palms against Seto's desk.

Seto looked wary. "What does he have in mind?" he asked.

Kisara shrugged. "I think he's bored, Seto. I won't take him anywhere too far. You shouldn't have to worry about us." She rested her hand on Seto's bicep, suddenly feeling her own protective instinct begin to kick in. "I promise I'll keep him safe for you." From the sofa, Mokuba looked up at her, nodding encouraginglly.

Seto sighed. "All right. Don't go too far," he added. Kisara gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, and his focus returned to the computer screen again. Mokuba leaped up, sprinting to stand beside Kisara. "There's a place that sells hamburgers down the street," he offered hopefully. "We could get a hamburger, maybe."

Kisara smiled. "That sounds fine. I could go for a burger," she said. "Just let me get my purse."

"I'll meet you at the elevators, then!" Mokuba shouted, running ahead. As she slung her bag se over her shoulder, Kisara glanced back at Seto; they shared a meaningful glance for a moment, and the corners of Seto's mouth curled upwards into a tense but genuine smile.

* * *

Mokuba and Kisara were tucked into a quiet corner booth of a late-night diner two blocks from the KaibaCorp tower. The place was mostly empty, but still smelled strongly of coffee and maple syrup, which made Kisara feel nostalgic in a way that she couldn't quite understand. She gripped her coffee mug tightly with both hands, repressing a shiver. The walk may have been short, but it was freezing outside. The two blocks that she and Mokuba had trudged along to get to the diner felt like an Odyssey. The hanging lamp over Kisara and Mokuba's booth gave off a warm yellow glow.

"Seto hates hamburgers," Mokuba remarked suddenly.

Kisara frowned, opening a packet of creamer and stirring it into her coffee.. "Yeah? I didn't know that," she said.

"They served them to us a lot at the orphanage, but they were gross hamburgers. The meat was kind of grey."

Kisara stirred another packet of creamer into her coffee, unsure of how to respond.

"Gozaburo hated fast food. He thought it was for lesser peoplle. We never got to places like this when Gozaburo was here." The boy stopped for a moment, then added, "Seto never takes me to places like this, either."

Kisara sighed, looking for a long moment at Mokuba. "He loves you, you know," she said helplessly.

Mokuba looked down, saying nothing. "I think he just...has his own way of showing that he cares about us," Kisara offered finally. "It doesn't mean that he doesn't love us. He is who he is."

"Do you love him?" Mokuba asked abruptly.

Kisara's eyes widened when she saw the look on Mokuba's face. "I do," she said finally, definitively.

"Even though he's...Seto?" Mokuba pried.

"I do. I think I'm starting to understand what that means," she added gently.

Mokuba stared at her for a long time. "Good.. I don't want you to leave," he announced finally. "Seto likes you. _I_ like you. Things are better. It's kind of weird."

Kisara laughed. "I guess so," she said. And then, more seriously, "Things are better for me, too, Mokuba. I like having you guys around, too."

Mokuba looked encouraged. "Good." They were quiet for a moment, listening to the gentle murmur of diner noise and the faint hum of old rock ballads in the background. Kisara studied the menu, which was slightly sticky with what Kisara assumed was maple syrup, and chock full of glossy photos of pancakes, mozzarella sticks, and hamburgers.

"Can I get _anything_?" Mokuba asked.

Kisara pursed her lips. "I don't see why not," she said.

"Strawberry milkshake?" Mokuba suggested hopefully.

Kisara smiled. "Sure," she said.

Mokuba looked mischeivous. "Can I get a _large_...?"

* * *

The walk back to KaibaCorpTower felt infinitely warmer and easier than the walk there had been, now that Kisara's stomach was full of coffee and pancakes. Mokuba seemed to be in good spirits as well. They waited quietly for the elevator that would take them back to Seto's office, shivering slightly from the freezing walk.

"Hey, thanks for going with me, Kisara," Mokuba said after a moment. He looked at her intently; it was hard to not feel disarmed by his wide-eyed amethyst stare.

"It was fun," Kisara said, feeling a rush of genuine warmth. "I'd be happy to take you next time." Mokuba grinned at her, and Kisara's heart felt warm.

It was almost preternaturally quiet when the pair arrived outside of Seto's office. Mokuba disappeared down the hallway before Kisara had the opportunity to ask him what was happening; hesitantly, she tiptoed her way towards the double doors to the office, pushing the doors open carefully to make sure they didn't squeak. The office was still lit, and Kisara could see hers' and Mokuba's backpacks where they had left them before going out to eat. The air was unusually still, and Kisara realized that the clacking of Seto's keyboard was noticeably absent.

Seto Kaiba was slumped over his desk. Alarmed, Kisara rushed to his side, kneeling so she was face-to-face with him. Seto's breathing was slow and natural; his arms were folded over the desk to make a makeshift pillow. Kisara reached out to move his hair out of his face and kissed his cheek gently. If Seto was aware that Kisara was there, there was no indication; his breathing continued in its steady, restful pattern.

A shadow cast over Kisara's head, and she looked up to see Mokuba standing over her and Seto, holding a plush blue blanket. She smiled and stepped aside, watching as Mokuba draped the blanket over his brother's shoulders, then lifted his head gently to push a crumpled corner of the blanket under him to use as a pilllow. Holding his breath, as if he were afraid that Seto would awaken, Mokuba tiptoed backwards, then scrambled to the sofa. Grinning widely, Kisara followed.

"He never makes it all the way through the night," Mokuba confessed, his voice nothing more than a soft whisper.

"Shoud we wake him up?" Kisara asked. "Doesn't he have a big presentation tomorrow?"

Mokuba smiled. "He's had that presentation prepared for weeks. I think he just thinks that if he doesn't stay up all night preparing the night before, then that means he didn't give it his best effort."

"He's gonna be mad at me if I don't wake him up, though," Kisara said.

Mokuba shrugged. "He's never mad at me."

"Yes, but you're... _Mokuba_ ," Kisara pointed out with a smile.

Mokuba rolled his eyes, curling up on the couch. "Okay, but I really don't think he needs you to wake him up." With that, Mokuba rolled over so his back was facing Kisara. "Good night, Kisara."

"Good night, Mokie," Kisara whispered back. She settled herself onto the carpet, leaning back against the sofa, and smiled. She wasn't sure of whether or not she would wake Seto later—the peace in the room seemed too enjoyable to pass up. She closed her eyes, letting the siilence drft over her.

All-nighter, indeed.

* * *

 _I posted the first chapter for this story a month ago! Which is not a long time, but it's a big deal for someone who has never been able to commit to a creative project with very much success :)_

 _Let me know what you guys think! In the works right now I wanted to have Kisara meet Yugi and co., which is tough because it requires a lot of thought in how to characterize them. So I've been doing a lot of thinking about the elusive_ staying in character _-let me know what you guys think about my characterizations of Seto and Mokuba (and Kisara, too-since she never showed up in the modern world, it's a little harder to suss out her canon personality)._

 _3, Mei_


	9. Thanksgiving

"I'm hungry," Mokuba whined, stretching his arms across the granite countertop and resting his cheek on one of the stove grates. "Can't you make something?"

Kisara sighed. Why Mokuba had never learned to cook for himself, or at least make himself a quesedilla in the microwave, astounded her more than it should, considering that he was a fifteen-year-old rich kid.

"What would you do when it was just you and Seto?" She asked, frowning and folding her arms across her chest. It wasn't just Mokuba's immaturity that was getting to her. It was that she was in the Kaiba's kitchen at seven-fifty-three in the evening, there was no food to be found, Mokuba was whining at her when he was more than old enough to forage for himself, and Seto had disappeared mid-afternoon without a trace—also, it was _Thanksgiving._

Kisara would have forgotten about Thanksgiving if Seto hadn't reminded her the night before.:

* * *

"We're out of the vanilla espressos," Kisara had commented offhandedly to Seto as he wandered into the kitchen and towards his very expensive, very nifty instant espresso machines. She was seated at the kitchen table, with a book called _SQL in Five Minutes or Less_ on her lap, her laptop perched on a white linen placemat, and the last vanilla espresso in a silver mug in her hand.

Seto grunted noncommitally at her, rifling through the drawer for a kind of espresso pod. "You're the only one who drinks that stuff," he snarked. "I think that package of vanilla espresso came with the machine."

Kisara rolled her eyes. "Whatever, I know what I like. I'll go pick some more up at the store tomorrow."

Seto removed a blown glass coffee cup from a cabinet, set it on the counter with a musical _clink_ of glass on granite, and looked at her. "I wouldn't do that.."

"Why, though?" Kisara had asked, genuinely confused.

Seto's lips curled into a thin half-smile.. "Kisara, you _know_ what day it is tomorrow, correct?" he asked her.

"Thursday? You don't have class tomorrow? I have back-to-back lectures on data structures and predictive analytics?" Kisara bit her lip. "I don't get it."

"You don't have any classes tomorrow, Kisara. Tomorrow's Thanksgiving." With that, Seto smirked smugly at her, and turned his attention to the coffee machine.

A million questions started playing through Kisara's head. _How had she forgotten about Thanksgiving? How did the Kaibas celebrate? Was there going to be a banquet? Did she need to find an appropriate outfit?_ Her heart thumped. She hated being caught off-guard.

Seto grabbed his coffee cup from the espresso machine, and took a long sip. "We don't observe the holiday, Kisara. Don't give yourself a stroke." He pulled out a chair so he could sit opposite her at the table. Watery November sunlight bounced from the glass top of the table and onto Seto's face, making him look like impossibly pale and angular.

"Nothing?" Kisara asked gently, tilting her head and glancing into Seto's face. Her boyfriend's experssion was duly unreadable; Kisara wasn't sure whether to expect a traumatic Thanksgiving story or a cynical tirade about the needless extravagance of a nonsense holiday.

Seto shrugged. "The employees get the day off to spend time with their families, and we send them home with turkeys. It's good enough for me."

"For Mokuba?" Kisara inquired gently. Halloween had been the first 'holiday' that she had spent with the Kaiba brothers, and she had found the experience genuinely heartwarming. It struck her as surprising that the brothers didn't have a similar tradition for each holiday.

Seto rolled his eyes. 'Thanksgiving is about _family_ , and _thankfulness_ , Kisara," he said shortly. His voice had a sharp edge that strongly suggested that he found the conversation trifling.

Kisara sighed. "So you object, because"-

"Sentimental holidays are designed for consumers to spend in excess trying to relive romanticized childhood memories," he said shortly.

"And you don't have any." Kisara wasn't sure whether to feel sympathetic or annoyed—a feeling that she was becoming quite accustomed to as she spent more time with Seto Kaiba.

"Yes, that's right."

* * *

Mokuba pouted. "Seto would tell me to order something," he conceded gloomily. "Some pizza, or some takeout Chinese."

"I won't stop you from doing that," Kisara responded.

Mokuba stomped his foot on the tile. "But Seto's _not_ here," he pointed out in a voice that was gratingly whiny. "And if I order food then I'm goiing to have to _wait_ for it to _get here.."_

Kisara huffed impatiently. "With your point being...?" she snipped, already fully aware of what Mokuba's point was.

"That you're _here_ , and so that's faster."

Grumpily, Kisara strode over to the refrigerator and flung the door open. There were several cans of cold soda, a gallon jug of apple juice, and some staples-otherwise, the refrigerator was pretty bare. She located a carton of eggs and a bag of preshredded cheddar cheese, and set them on the counter. "Fine," she grumbled.

Instantly cheered, Mokuba grabbed a can of soda from the fridge, and sat at the kitchen table, watching Kisara as she slid a hunk of butter into a frying pan.. "You're too old for this, you know," Kisara lectured, annoyed at herself for letting Mokuba off the hook so easily.

"I know," Mokuba chirped. The sound of crackling egg whites and the smell of sizzling butter filled the air as Kisara began to crack eggs, one by one (four in total—she did Mokuba ever have an appetite), into the frying pan, and Mokuba drained his soda, dispassionately watching Kisara cook

"Where _is_ Seto now, anyways?" Mokuba asked. The question was more or less rhetorical—Kisara had been the one who arrived from her apartment in the mid-afternoon to find Mokuba at the door, reporting to her that Seto had been gone since the morning ( _"He does that sometimes," Mokuba had said, looking gloomily at the ground. He then asked Kisara if she wanted to come inside anyways and test out Seto's new virtual reality sandbox game with him, to which she happily obliged)._

Kisara added a handful of cheese to the frying pan, folding the gooey mess in on itself into a blob of eggscramblenonsense. "He was gone when I got here, Mokuba," she reminded him, scraping the egg-and-cheese mixture onto a plate and adding salt and pepper. She grabbed a fork from a drawer and extracted a corner of the egg dish. It was salty and buttery—she probably wouldn't have been as liberal with the butter and cheese if she had been cooking for herself—and simple, but good. She took another bite, rearranged the eggs so the plate looked full again, and set it in front of Mokuba, pulling out a chair so she could sit next to him.

"He's not answering his texts?" Mokuba asked around a mouthful of eggs and cheese. His big grey eyes were round, and Kisara forgot her annoyance with both of the Kaiba brothers as she realized that Mokuba was genuinely concerned.

Kisara removed her phone from her sweatshirt pocket. "No, sorry," she said. Mokuba. The boy was staring at his eggs, looking dejected. "Is everything okay?"

Mokuba didn't answer right away, but shrugged his shoulders slowly, keeping them tensed and close to his ears. "I just don't like it when Seto leaves like this," he said finally. "I get scared."

Hesitantly, Kisara reached her hand around Mokuba's back, tugging him a little closer to her. "I'm sure he's okay," she said, gritting her teeth. In all honesty, she had only known Seto for a few months. Although it didn't seem out of character for him to disappear without letting anyone know, he _had been_ gone for hours, and she was starting to grow concerned as well. Looking into Mokuba's eyes, though, she knew this wasn't the moment to divulge her own concerns. "Come on, finish up. Maybe we can watch a movie while we wait for him to get back."

* * *

 _Kisara: Hey, are you coming home soon? We're getting worried. Can you please let me know where you are or when you'll be back? (10:32PM)_

"Did he text you back yet?" Mokuba whined. The boy was curled up in a corner of the sofa, sunken into a new of pillows and blankets. The credits for a movie played in the background, along with the grating guitars of the movie's title track.

Watching an action movie had distracted Mokuba for a little while, but halfway through the movie, during the canned requisite romance scenes, Kisara had started to notice him glancing at her phone on the coffee table more and more, and then compulsively checking his own phone; it wasn't hard to imake the connection that he was looking for signs of Seto. By the end of the movie, Mokuba was curled in the fetal position on the sofa, not even watching the movie at all. Kisara's heart ached with worry.

She shook her head apologetically. "We could look for him, maybe," she suggested, scooting closer to Mokuba's pillow-blanket-nest. "Do you know of any places he would go?"

Mokuba shook his head. "I don't _know_. _I want him to come home."_

Kisara sighed, ruffling the boy's dark hair before instantly regretting her heion—Mokuba was visibly distraught, but he was fiften, not five. "Let's give him another half an hour," she suggested. "If we haven't heard from Seto by eleven, then we can go see if we can find him. Maybe he's just caught up in something at work."

"He's not active on the KaibaCorp messenger," Mokuba reported dully. "He hasn't been all day long. I checked." He pouted. "I checked _lots_ of times."

Kisara felt helpless. "I know. But maybe let's jut ve him a little more time. Do you want to watch something else while we wait? I can find a TV show with twenty-minute episodes..."

Mokuba shook his head vehemently. "I want _Seto_ to come home," he insisted.

Kisara sighed, leaning heavily into the sofa, and unlocked her phone again. Her text message history with Seto was just a long chain of worried, inquisitive texts from her today, and no response from Seto. She had tried calling him too, hoping that the urgency of his ringing phone would prompt him to pick up, but her past dozen calls had gone unanswered, too. _Where could he possibly be?_ She glanced at Mokuba, who was huddled in a corner of the sofa, the lblue light of his phone illuminating his face, and grabbed a pillow from the other side of the couch, hugging it to her chest.

She couldn't quite pinpoint exactly _what_ she was worried about—after all, Seto was a grown twenty-three year old, who was perfectly capable of taking care of himself for an hour or a dozen. He was highly intelligent, not to mention physically capable. So why, then, were her palms still tingling, and her stomach aching? What about Seto, especially the image of Seto alone in the night, made her feel so protective? What about him could possibly make him seem... _vulnerable?_ Kisara yawned. The lights around her swam momentarily, and she rubbed her eyes. The movie she'd put on for Mokuba wasn't exactly to her taste, and it had been difficult for her to keep her eyes open for parts of it.

Mokuba's suddenly snapped to attention, his head jolting upright moments before Kisara heard the soft turning of keys in a door. By the time she stood up to make her way downstairs to the front room, Mokuba was halfway down the stairs.

The unmistakably lanky, thin silhouette of Seto Kaiba stood in the doorway, a negative image against a glow of silver moonlight from outside. He was wearing a dark trench coat, and holding something in his arms. Lit from behind, it was utterly impossible to make out his expression. Kisara froze on the stairwell, a mixed wave of confusion and relief crashing down on her.

" _Seto_!" Mokuba barrelled towards his big brother. " _Where were you?_ "

"Whoa, kid." Seto side-stepped Mokuba's flying approach; Mokuba skitterdede a at the doorway, using the door frame to halt his momentum..

Mokuba struggled to regain his balance, wobbling his way upright to stand toe-to-toe with Seto, his arms crossed over his chest. "You promised!" he exclaimed. His voice had an acerbic tone. "You promised you weren't going to do that anymore!"

The shadowy Seto-figure in the still-open doorway set something down on the porch, then stood straight, facing Mokuba, motionless. "I'm sorry, Mokuba," he said. His voice was uncharacteristically soft and tired, and she watched as he leaned in closer to Mokuba, pulling him into a tight hug. For a moment, the Mokuba-silhouette seemed to resist, before he wrapped his arms tightly around his brother's waist.

"You promised," she heard Mokuba mumble, hugging Seto even tighter.

Kisara realized she was holding her breath in her attempts not to disrupt their moment. After what felt like a long, heartwarming eternity, Seto and Mokuba broke apart, and Seto retrieved the object he had been holding from the porch. "I brought a pumpkin pie," he said.

Mokuba snatched the pie box from his brother's arms and fled towards the kitchen. "I'll get plates!" he shouted.

Seto lingered, and Kisara stepped off the stair landing, approaching him slowly and hesitantly. His coat was damp, as if he had been walking through the rain, and his hair was tousled, but his expression was warm.

"I was worried," she whispered, grabbing his forearm. "We didn't know where you went."

Seto paused for a moment, then reached forward and put his hand under her chin, lifting it gently so she was staring at him. He leaned forward, giving her a long, deep kiss. He smelled like rain and leaves and Autumn, and his skin was freezing cold. Kisara wrapped her arms aroundh his neck, pulling him in closer to her.

His lips grazed her cheek. "I love you," he whispered into her ear.

It was the first time Kisara could recall hearing him say the words out loud.

* * *

"What happened?" Kisara lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling from Seto's bed. A freshly-showered Seto was sitting in bed next to her, his characteristic spicy Boy Shampoo smell replacing the smell of rain and fallen leaves.

Seto was silent, and Kisara rolled towards him, narrowing her eyes. "You owe it to me," she insisted firmly. "Mokie and I were worried sick."

Seto sighed. His face was directed towards the window, and his long arms were wrapped around his knees. "I don't know, Kisara," he said finally. His voice sounded wistful and distant.

Wordlessly, Kisara drew herself into a sitting position so she was shoulder-to-shoulder with Seto. She could regocnize that he was in an unusually vulnerable mood, and she didn't want to ruin the moment.

"Family, belonging, _togetherness_. I never wanted to have those things. I wanted to believe that those were the things that make someone weak, that attachment only stands to get in the way of going where you want to go. If I could see myself now, when I was sixteen, I would think I was so pathetic, to be cozying up to a woman at night, and buying pies for my little brother."

Kisara knew better than to interrupt him.

" _Attachments_...they change people. Where you want to be, suddenly has to align with where they want to be. Humans have an infinite number of desires, some of them contradictory...to care about the wants and the dreams of another individual is to make one's life infinitely more complicated."

He was quiet for a moment. "And to _want_ that...is difficult to accept," he pondered, still staring musingly out the window. Kisara lost herself in staring at the sharp lines of Seto's face, and was surprised when she felt his hand reach for hers, clasping it gently on top of the covers.

"I _love_ Mokuba. And I _love_ you. But learning how to reconcile that with my visions for the future...that is a difficult, possibly indefinitely ngoing, task"

Kisara lifted their entwined hands, giving the top of his hand a gentle kiss. "That's okay. I still love you Seto," she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I love you, too," he said gently. They were quiet for a moment, him still staring out the window at the bare branches waving in the wind and the ice-cold starlight, and her staring into nothing, feeling the gentle rise and fall of their synchronized synchronized breaths.

"You're supposed to say you're _thankful_ today," she said suddenly.

Seto's stare finally tore away from the window, and he stared at her with gennuine confusion. "Come again?"

Kisara smiled. " _Love_ is for the other three-hundred sixty-four days of the year. Today is about being _thankful_. So I'm _thankful_ for you, and for Mokuba, and I'm _thankful_ to be a part of your life."

Seto sighed, chuckling to himself. "Fine. I'm _thankful_ for you, too."


	10. Friends

Kisara tended to avoid the central plaza of Domino University because it was, just as it was today, crowded, loud, and entirely overwhelming. Today, though, she had two hours between classes, and nothing much else to do. That was how she, somehow, found herself wandering amongst the covered tables advertising various student organizations, bumbling her way through the streams of people.

A table with a red-lettered banner emblazoned with _Duel Monsters Club_ caught her eye from the corner of the plaza. She shyly fidgeted with the cross-body strap on her messenger bag, mulling the situation over in her head. On one hand, she knew Seto's love for the Duel Monsters game ran deep, and her limited knowledge of the game, in a certain regard, limited their connection. On the other hand, she was shy with new people, and wasn't sure how to appear interested in Duel Monsters without sounding clueless and dorky. She tipped her head slightly, trying to judge the crowd around the Duel Monsters Club table from afar. The table was one of the less dense groups in the plaza; from what she could see, there were only three people hanging out under the Duel Monsters Club tent. They were casually dressed and appeared to be approachable enough to a dork like Kisara. Two of them seemed to be focusing their attention on—Kisara squinted—someone very short, with spiky, colorful hair. Her heart skipped a beat as she made the connection— _Yugi Motou_.

So that was Yugi Motou. Seto's sworn rival, though from what she understood, Seto's obsession with this rivalry was mostly one-sided. Early on in the relationship, she had gotten the sense that Yugi was some kind of taboo, triggering subject to Seto, and she hadn't brought him up since; as a result, she felt an odd mix of fear, reverence, and excitement to know that she was standing so close to him. Her palms tingled.

She felt herself drift towards the table, her heart pounding in her ears. As she approached, the group turned to look at her. A tall, lanky boy with shaggy blond hair waved at her. "Hey, how's it going?"

Kisara shrugged her shoulders slightly. There was a short, awkward pause.

"Can we help ya?" The blond boy prompted.

"I...I was just, you know. Coming by to check you guys out. Er, my boyfriend is obsessed with Duel Monsters, so I thought maybe I should know more about it. Maybe you guys can teach me how to play."

"My kinda girl," the boy said encouragingly. "It's nice to meet ya."

Kisara grinned, turning her attention towards Yugi. "I know who _you_ are. You're Yugi Motou," she said, before instantly regretting it.

For what it was worth, Yugi Motou appeared to be accustomed to, if not still embarrassed by, his minor celebrity. "Yes, that's right," he said.

"I'm assuming you know who _I_ am, then," the blond boy said, grinning teasingly at Kisara.

Kisara shook her head apologetically. "Um, no, sorry." The boy scrunched his nose at her playfully, and she quickly added, "I mean, I'd _like_ to." She relaxed her shoulders, feeling surprisingly at ease. It had been awhile since she had spent a significant amount of time with anyone except the Kaiba brothers, and she found herself enjoying the more lighthearted company.

"Joey Wheeler. I'd say it's nice to meet ya, _but_ I don't know if it's nice to meet someone who doesn't remember the fourth-place finisher in the Battle City tournament."

Kisara giggled. "I...um...wow. Yeah, I don't know how I missed that."

Joey smiled at her; Kisara thought she saw him wink, and she bit her lip shyly. "Don't beat yourself up about it. Rookie mistake," he offered.

"So your boyfriend plays Duel Monsters? Do we know him?" A third person, tall and brown-haired in a tan Anorak, piped up. "By the way—it's Tristan."

"Tristan, hi. Oh, boy, it's going to be hard keeping up with names," Kisara said.

"That's...two names, sis," Joey pointed out jokingly.

Kisara rolled her eyes. "That's. Um, that's fair. I'm not great with names."

"We didn't catch yours, by the way," Yugi interjected politely.

"Oh! Ah—right. I'm Kisara," she said, offering her friendliest smile. "It's nice to meet you guys."

"It's nice to meet you too, Kisara. Speaking of, guys, I gotta head to class. Catch you later." Tristan grabbed his backpack from under the table and disappeared, offering Kisara an amiable wave as he left.

"So Kisara. We gonna hear about this boyfriend of yours? What's his deal?" Joey asked after Tristan had left.

Kisara's eyebrows raised. "Um, you might know him," she said hesitantly. Suddenly, she became acutely aware of how bad of an idea this probably was.

"Are you datin' Duke? We haven't been seein' him around for awhile..." Joey speculated.

Kisara cringed. "Um, no. I, uh..." Panic glued her to the spot, and her eyes darted around the plaza, planning a route of escape. Joey's demeanor was still playful and friendly, but Yugi was beginning to look concerned.

"Are you all right?" Yugi asked, frowning up at Kisara.

She could almost feel the adrenaline trickling through her veins. "I, uhmmm. Yeah. It's good. Uh, forget it."

Joey looked at her quizically. "Um, what, dude?" he said, though his voice was more curious than accusatory.

"It's...uh, _yikes_ , okay. I think you guys know him. Um? My boyfriend is Seto Kaiba."

Kisara felt the air in her throat turn to ice; although she hadn't been sure what kind of reaction she was expecting, she hadn't anticipated stunning the pair of them into silence.

"Th—that's great," Yugi said finally. "Wow, well, it's nice to meet you, then, Kisara." He extended his hand towards her, and she shook it, feeling extremely self-conscious.

Kisara chanced a quick glance at Joey, who's face had visibly darkened since she said Seto Kaiba's name aloud. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was looking at the ground. Kisara shivered, feeling uncomfortable with the stark contrast between the boisterous boy she had met a few minutes ago, and the one she was talking to now.

"We should take you and Kaiba to dinner, Kisara! It's been so long," Yugi continued brightly. "We haven't seen Kaiba in years. Are you going to be busy tonight?"

Kisara gulped. "Erm, Seto's working, I think. And I have class tonight, but I'll be done by six-thirty." She wrung her hands awkwardly, glancing at Joey, who seemed to refuse to acknowledge her presence.

"Get dinner with us," Yugi offered cheerily. "We're meeting back up with Tristan and another one of our friends tonight for pizza at Regents'. You can meet us back here."

Kisara gulped. "All right. I...well, I'll see you here after class, then."

* * *

Hanging out with Yugi and his friends was suprisingly easy, Kisara was discovering—they were friendly and, if anything, more indifferent than she had expected to her relationship with Seto. The formalities involved in getting to know a large group of people, while somewhat tedious, at least provided Kisara a break from the spotlight as the others took turns revealing information about themselves: Tea was a cosmetology student, Tristan was simultaneously working towards a GED and working as a supervisor at a fast-food joint in the same strip mall as Regents' Pizza, Yugi had gone professional with Duel Monsters and was taking a course on Ancient Egypt between tournaments. When it came Joey's turn to talk, he had muttered something about the local drugstore, and quickly turned back to his pizza and beer. Everyone's introductions were followed by a period of relative quiet, and Kisara took the opportunity to help herself to a second slice of pizza.

"So what happened that led you to get together with _Kaiba_?" Tea asked, delicately setting down a glass of iced tea. Out of everyone she had met today, Kisara felt the most cautious around Tea, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why—maybe it was her delicately pointed questions. It was probably the delicately pointed questions, which made Kisara feel like she was being interrogated about something she didn't fully understand.

"We were, um, paired together for a class I'm taking. Introduction to machine learning algorithms," she said, pausing to take a bite of pizza.

"Nerd," Tristan teased. The pint of beer grasped in his hand was mostly empty, and he had grown significantly warmer towards Kisara as the stein had emptied.

"And you're...planning to work for KaibaCorp?" Tea inquired, draining her iced tea through a straw. Her tone made Kisara shiver—it wasn't out-and-out passive aggressive, but it was almost as if Tea were trying to find any other reason than Kisara being attracted to Seto for her to be in her current position.

Kisara shrugged. "I'm not sure—I'm taking classes right now to get ready for graduate school. It could be years before I have to make a decision like that." She felt uncomfortable as she watched the group's interest in her fade; it appeared that they didn't find her career aspirations to be particularly interesting. Kisara twisted off a piece of pizza crust and awkwardly chewed at the corner of it.

"It's just hard for us to imagine," Tea offered after a moment of silence.

"We're happy for you, _and_ for Kaiba," Yugi offered quickly. He smiled gently at Kisara, which only made her feel even more awkward. She glanced towards the corner of the table at Joey, and for a moment he met her gaze, rolled his eyes, and looked away.

* * *

At long last, the group trudged its way towards the parking lot and huddled together in the harsh yellow glare of the parking lot-lights, their breaths spreading clouds of steam into the cold air. Kisara shivered and snuck a quick glance at her phone—still nothing from Seto. It was eight-thirty, and Seto hadn't suspected anything—for all he knew, she had gone home and curled up with a cup of hot cocoa. Or was debugging a particularly tricky script in the library. There was no reason for him to suspect that she had spent the night hanging out with Yugi Motou. _And his friends_.

"My car's on campus—I can give you guys a ride home," she offered, realizing that the group's movement had slowed to a halt.

Yugi shook his head. "Tea and I live a couple of minutes the opposite direction of Domino University. We'll be all right. Thanks, Kisara."

Kisara looked awkwardly to Joey, whose arms were crossed tightly across his chest. "Let me give you a ride home," she pleaded. "The car's only, like, a seven minute walk from here. I haven't had anything to drink tonight. You don't live too far away, do you?"

Joey shook his head. "I'm good," he said gruffly.

Kisara noticed Yugi give Joey a meaningful look. "It's cold tonight," Yugi reasoned.

"I'm not going to _hurt_ you, or anything," Kisara added awkwardly.

Joey shrugged noncommitally, and Kisara edged closer to him, glancing up towards his eyes. "It _is_ cold. Come on, I'm a good driver. I'd hate to see you walk alone in the cold." She watched as Tea gave Joey an emphatic nudge with her shoulder, and Joey grumbled softly, shuffling towards Kisara.

"Fine. C'mon, let's get goin'." He lifted his hand from his pocket to give a half-wave goodbye to Yugi and Tea, and then he and Kisara were shuffling across the parking lot alone.

* * *

 _Notes: I forgot where exactly I left off on what_ Extras _is, haha. So if it was a series of one-shots, then I'm kind of breaking that, a conversation between Kisara and Joey (and her subsequent processing of everything with Seto) is going to be part two of this story._

 _As I said before, I'm not exactly as comfortable writing Yugi and his friends as much as I am Kisara (who is essentially an OC) and the Kaiba brothers. I had a couple of back-and-forths with_ Cryptographic DeLurk _about five-ish years post-canon Yugi and gang, although they did not read any of this, so whatever issues you have with my characterization of things isn't their fault, haha. They are writing an amazing story following Joey (/Mai/Seto I believe) that I have been reading and would recommend, if they're okay with me recommending it (and please let me know if you're not)._

 _Joey and Kisara/Seto and Kisara aka part II is coming, as are some other wintery/holiday-ish stuff that I've been toying with._

 _Thanks for reading! :)_


	11. Joey

_Hey, hey, welcome back :) I have a pretty lengthy note at the end/would appreciate some feedback, if you have time! Otherwise, happy reading. Or...hitting the back button to read something else._

* * *

Joey's pace was brisk—he wasn't much shorter than Seto, and was nearly as gangly and long-legged—and Kisara had to jog every few meters to keep pace.

They continued the two blocks back to school in such a manner—Joey with his head down, walking briskly, and Kisara struggling to maintain pace. Her mind was spinning.

"Wait—just wait, one second," she huffed, as Joey began to cross an intersection as the light turned yellow. There was no way that she would make it across the intersection with him, and then he would be able to lose her for good. To her surprise, Joey turned about-face, and leaned against the telephone pole on the curb, staring off into the distance. A trickle of traffic made its way through the intersection Joey had occupied just moments before.

"Can I ask you something?" Kisara asked hesitantly, feeling her heart thump uncomfortably in her chest.

Joey shrugged. "I can't stop you, if that's gonna answer your question," he offered.

Kisara drew in a deep breath and spit out the words before she could stop them. "What's going on?" she asked.

Joey rolled his eyes. "You _insisted_ on giving me a ride home tonight, like ya didn't think I could do it myself. So. We're getting your car."

Kisara grimaced, berating herself internally for not using a more precise phrase. "You know what I mean," she complained.

"I might." Silence. The lights changed, and Joey started making his way across the street with the same brisk stride.

Kisara sighed and hurried after him. "Fine. Why do you have such a problem with me and Seto?"

Joey's momentum stopped abruptly. Kisara paused, glancing cautiously at him; he looked disgruntled, but wasn't looking towards Kisara.

"I don't," he said finally, then continued walking again.

Kisara groaned. "Okay, seriously, come on. What's your _deal_?" she insisted.

Joey's voice was uncomfortably bitter. "I'm guessing what you and Kaiba have in common is neither of you know when to let sleeping dogs lie."

They walked in silence until they reached the parking garage. There, Kisara realized that she suddenly had the upper hand—Joey didn't know where her car was, or what it looked like. Their pace slowed considerably.

"I don't know what your history is with Seto," she started.

"You mean, he didn't give you the _maniac psychopath killer_ backstory?" Joey asked.

Kisara's heart jumped and caught in her throat. Joey was right, there were certain aspects of Seto's past that she didn't know much about. She recalled a moment when she had reached out to grasp Seto's hand as he curled his fingers around his locket, asking with a gentle smile where he had gotten it; his face had turned to stone so quickly that a lump rose in Kisara's throat and her lungs felt cold. She knew the locket contained a picture of a young Mokuba, but she had been afraid to ask further details about the piece since.

* * *

"You can drop me here." Joey's sounded over the soft hum of radio-rock guitars.

Kisara looked around, frowning. The street they were driving on was a quiet, lined with warehouses on one side and the train tracks on the other. "Where?"

Joey sighed. "Pull over, anywhere's fine. We're close, I promise." Kisara turned her car into an empty lot, sliding into a parking space between a pool supply warehouse and a closed shop that advertised lunch specials on chicken parmesan.

"I feel kind of bad leaving you here," Kisara confessed, twisting her hands.

Joey sighed. "Yeah, don't worry too much about it." His voice softened a little, and he looked at her with a slight smile. "You're a'ight, you know that? Of course you have to be dating Ol' Moneybags."

Kisara allowed herself a small smile. "We could get a drink sometime, maybe," she suggested. "I'm not _just_ Ol' Moneybags' girlfriend." the words sounded funny coming out, and she chuckled to herself.

Joey looked uncertain for a moment, then reached for his phone. "Aaahhh, what the heck. Just don't blame me if Kaiba doesn't want us getting' too close. I warned ya."

"I can handle him." Kisara fumbled through the center console for her phone, and the two exchanged phone numbers.

"See ya." Joey slammed Kisara's car door behind him, and she watched triumphantly as he glanced back her, giving a half-wave, before he walked away. Suddenly aware that she was alone in an abandoned lot, Kisara locked the car doors and slid down into her seat, taking in the events of the night.

* * *

"You saw _what_?" Kisara had been expecting Seto to be surprised that she had spent the evening with Yugi and his friends, but Seto's eyes were wide; his face was pale.

Kisara sighed gently, reaching out to rub Seto's shoulder. "I met Yugi Motou. He was tabling for a Duel Monsters club. They invited me out to dinner." Seeing Seto shake his head almost imperceptibly, she added, with a hint of indignation, "I don't need your permission to make new friends, Seto."

After a good deal of thinking, Kisara had driven to the Kaiba mansion. Mokuba had answered the door, already dressed in pajamas and looking slightly surprised to find Kisara on his doorstep at eleven-o-seven on a weekday night, but ushered her inside without a second thought before heading back to bed. Alone in the dark living room, Kisara looked at the new contact "Joey W" on her phone, wondering whether the right move was to tell Seto at all.

She wasn't _afraid_ of him—at least, she tried to convince herself that she wasn't. And yet, there was something about the way Seto's face drew tight, and his voice choked ever-so-slightly, whenever the mention of Yugi Motou came up, that made her hesitate. She shook her head, remembering Tea's words— _happy, but so_ surprised _that Seto Kaiba would have a girlfriend—_ and stubbornly resolved that she had to, nay, she _wanted_ to tell Seto about her new friends.

Seto glanced away for a moment; there was a flash of _something_ in his expression that made Kisara shudder. "Yes, of course," he said finally. He drew his knees to his chest, and clasped his hands around them.

Kisara felt her eyebrows furl, and she leaned against the headboard of Seto's bed. All at once, the frightening glimpse of anger she had witnessed in Seto was gone, replaced by a meek, silent version of her boyfriend that seemed somehow less than the person he had been just moments before.

"You all have a history," she said quietly, inching her way towards Seto until they were shoulder to shoulder on his crumpled navy-and-silver bedspread.

"Did they tell you?" Seto asked. His voice sounded flat and distant, as if it were coming from a voice recording. She brushed a lock of his dark brown hair behind his ear, gently running her finger tip across his cheek, but still he did not look her way.

...M _aniac psychopath killer..._ the sharp vitriol in Joey's voice as he spat those words at her echoed crisply in her mind, as if the blonde-haired boy were in the room. But Kisara shook her head. "I _know_ stuff happened, Seto. And I know it was years ago." Her voice, calm and matter of fact, softened slightly as she saw Seto's shoulders raise even higher than they were already. "It doesn't mean that...whatever happened...is who you are now."

Her words were met with silence. Kisara pursed her lips. Roughly four months with Seto, and she was becoming accustomed to the silence that sometimes followed difficult pieces of conversation. Seto Kaiba was not one to choose words lightly.

"I did _bad things_ , Kisara," he said finally. His voice wobbled slightly, and Kisara was alarmed as she realized that his shoulders were shaking. Tenderly, Kisara crawled across the bed until she was behind him, wrapping her arms across his and resting her head on his shoulder.

"You don't have to be who you were then," she whispered softly, kissing his cheek.

"You don't _know_."

Kisara grimaced, gently squeezing Seto's wrist. "Maybe not. You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to. But it's going to be okay."

Seto's voice was bitter, ice-cold, almost impossibly abrasive. "Don't patronize me, Kisara. You don't _know_."

Kisara sighed, letting Seto go and slumping down on the bed. "You're right, I don't. But Yugi...and his friends...they're _fine_. They're...they're just people, our age." She flicked Seto's kneecap lightly with one finger. "Yugi said he was happy for us."

Seto looked disarmed. "He said that?" He asked.

Kisara nodded. "They wanted to know if you could come with us tonight. I said you were working, but..." her voice trailed off into nothing before she finished her sentence, but Seto's eyes looked different, and his face more relaxed.

"We could try," she suggested.

Seto turned to look at her, and Kisara met his gaze. They stayed fixed like this for a long moment, with blue eyes meeting blue. Kisara had never fully admired Seto's eyes, she realized—strikingly large and pale blue, deep-set and framed by sharp eyebrows. He had once confessed to her that his vision was nearly bad enough for him to be considered legally blind, and yet she had never seen him with his glasses on. She wondered if he was still wearing his contacts, or if he really couldn't see her much at all right now, if she was just a blur of pale peach skin and dark blue eyes and silvery hair.

Seto nodded at long last. "If you want to."

Kisara knew Seto well enough to know that he wanted to take her lead, under the guise of being disinterested. She smiled, feeling a rush of warmth to be given such a task in his life as mending the bridges he had burned as an angry teenager. The warmth enveloped her, and she wrapped her arms around him; unsuspecting, Seto toppled backwards, landing with a soft thump onto a mound of pillows and crumpled comforter.

"Sure," she smiled. "Sure, I'll see if Yugi and his friends ever want to get dinner again," she said, kissing his cheek.

Seto put his hand against her cheek, looking at her with a meaningful stare; his blue eyes blazed with emotion. Kisara fidgeted, almost uncomfortable with the intensity in his eyes, and the meaning behind it—Seto, in his own way, was confiding in her that he wanted to make amends, and _possibly ?_ Kisara dared not extrapolate— _make friends ?_

"If you want to. It doesn't much matter to me," Seto added. Kisara rolled away from him so she wouldn't see her smile.

"Sure," she said. "C'mon, let's go to bed, Seto."

* * *

 _Notes_ : Short, but technically, this and the last chapter were supposed to be one chapter :P I've been kind of considering doing a spinoff of this fic about Kisara helping Seto befriend Yugi and the gang, and more fully flesh out how I imagined each of the characters to have ended up at this point in their lives. I don't remember whether or not I stated this at the beginning of the fic, but Seto is very dear to my heart, and has been since I started watching the show (I was nine, and now I'm twenty-one). So being the sap that I am, I always wanted Seto to have a happy ending, which I don't think he was really given in the canon (or in DSoD...it's all the same, kind of ambiguous, kind of thing). Now that I'm older than Kaiba, and working in/studying a tech-heavy field, I've met a lot of people who have helped me kind of shape my ideas for a realistic 'happy ending' for Seto. A big part is finding a partner who understands him, which is the point of this fic. And another part is friendship, and making amends for the past, and learning-it sounds kind of melodramatic, but I think blow-up-a-tower-to-represent-leaving-the-past-behind Kaiba would approve-how to bury the person that he was "back then" (in the DM and manga canon), which I think could be another, and more linear, plot-based story.

Please let me know what you think! And have a happy holiday season, to everyone who gets one-and to everyone working retail, I have so much respect for you and wish you nothing but luck :-O

~Mei


	12. Black Tie Affair

Kisara was curled up on a sofa in the Kaibas' den, absentmindedly browsing the internet, with Mokuba next to her. Downstairs, dozens of workers were setting up the annual KaibaCorp black and white ball, a holiday party for all the employees of KaibaCorp's Domino headquarters, which was scheduled to start in a little less than six hours. Roland was supervising the transformation of the downstairs living room into an elaborate ballroom while Kisara and Mokuba hid from the action upstairs. Seto had disappeared to his bedroom as soon as the first workers arrived, and hadn't emerged since.

"Seto hates the black and white ball," Mokuba said suddenly. He had skimmed the top off of some of the caterer's appetizers, and was munching on a miniature spinach quiche.

Kisara blinked, startled by Mokuba's sudden declaration. "Yeah?"

Mokuba nodded grimly. "Seto hates crowds, and he hates talking to people he doesn't know. I bet Seto wouldn't show up at all, but the board says that it's _bad for morale_."

Kisara nodded slowly. "That makes sense," she said finally.

Mokuba fidgeted, looking uncomfortable. "The doctor gave him pills, because he gets really upset sometimes when he has to be around so many people. He gets really quiet, and then really stiff, and then he starts getting really irritable."

Kisara felt a pang of sympathy. Mokuba's mouth was tight; it was clear that talking about his brother's weaknesses made him feel uncomfortable. She extended her arm to Mokuba, gently resting her hand on the boy's shoulder.

"It's okay. I won't tell anybody," she said solemnly.

Mokuba glanced at her for a split second before looking away. "It's...not just that," he said hesitantly.

Kisara's stomach twisted, but she tried her best to sound calm. "What is it?"

Mokuba looked a little sheepish. "Seto's medicine is downstairs in the cabinet above the coffee machine," he said finally. "He's not going to go get it because there's already a lot of people here."

Kisara sighed. "You want me to go get it."

The boy's eyes lit up, and he nodded at her. "Yeah, that's right. You're the best, Kisara."

She rolled her eyes. "You know, I don't want to do it, either."

Mokuba grinned. "You're the best, Kisara."

* * *

Anxiously, Kisara glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was brushed, braided, and wound into a loose updo at the nape of her neck; silver tendrils were gently loosened and curled to frame her face. Her dark blue eyes were accented with a shimmery, smudgy charcoal-colored eyeliner, and her cheeks were highlighted with a peachy color that brought a delicate warmth to her pale skin. The weekend before, realizing that black _tie_ probably meant looking like an adult, and thus wearing lipstick, Kisara had brooded over lipstick colors at a department store until one of the sales representatives, recognizing a helpless soul when they saw one, directed her towards a shimmery sort of soft-rose color. The same representative had helped Kisara pick a dress, a conservatively knee-length and high-cut number in a lacy white fabric, cinched at the waist with an intricately beaded royal-blue belt that tied into a large bow in the back. Spending increasing amounts of time with the Kaiba brothers meant eating less like a broke twenty-two year old girl and more like a teenage boy; the extra weight she was carrying gave her a soft, gentle appearance. Kisara was almost hypnotized by her reflection; she barely recognized the elegant figure staring back at her.

Kisara gulped as she sized up Seto in his formal wear. His crisply tailored black suit made him look even lankier and broader-shouldered than he already was; his blue tie matched perfectly with the bow on Kisara's dress, drawing out the unnaturally bright color of his eyes. She noticed with a smile that his Duel Monsters card-shaped locket was tucked into his dress shirt, leaving just a glimpse of the well-worn leather cord visible. He looked every bit the part of the handsome young high-tech CEO—Kisara had almost forgotten, in the haze of late-night work binges and exasperating hours of resolving merge conflicts that constituted the past week leading up to finals, how disarmingly handsome her boyfriend was.

"You look amazing," Kisara said, wrapping her arm around Seto's.

Seto's eyes narrowed. "Don't patronize me, Kisara."

Kisara frowned. "I'm not trying to. I just..." She gulped. "You're really handsome. It kinda makes me nervous."

Hesitantly, Seto wrapped his arm around Kisara's waist, tugging her towards his side. She leaned her head against his chest and felt a soft peck his lips against the top of her head. She stared at the neatly polished couple in the mirror in amazement. She had never been to a high school prom, but this was how she imagined it must have felt for everyone else: she felt both very pretty and very anxious. Kisara leaned her weight forwards, balancing on her tiptoes to give Seto a kiss on the cheek.

"It's only a couple of hours," she rationalized, tracing the curve of Seto's jaw with one finger.

Seto's mouth was pulled into a grim line. "There's going to be a lot of eyes on you," he said, apparently oblivious to Kisara's gentle gesture.

She sighed, pecking his cheek again. "I know. I'm kind of terrified. But, I think I can handle it."

Seto turned to look at her. His head tilted, much in the way that she had seen him study a particularly vexing line of code, and she felt as if he were deconstructing her on the spot. "You're a personal guest of the company CEO," he said slowly, as if he weren't sure she understood her position.

"I'm a twenty-two year old computer science student. If I weren't your _personal guest_ "-the words sounded awkward, almost insulting, in how impersonal they felt-"I would probably be sucking up to these people, trying to get an unpaid internship. Goodness forbid anyone thought I was qualified to hire me for a job."

Seto straightened his tie and pushed his shoulders back slightly, and with those slight adjustments to his appearance, he suddenly looked confident again. Kisara marveled at how practiced his familiar stiff posture was; she could hardly fathom the amount of stress it took for him to make it through a single day. "It's not an interview, Kisara. You don't need to astonish them with your breakthrough research in systems theory." He turned his head towards her, and she watched as an almost intangibly slight, but genuine smile stretched across his lips. "That would be too easy for you. These people want to know what you're like as a personal guest of Seto Kaiba."

* * *

Having never been to a black-tie work gala for a company worth billions of dollars, Kisara couldn't be _quite_ sure what normal decorations would look like, but she was willing to guess that typical ornamentation would emnot/em include a four foot-tall ice sculpture of a Blue Eyes White Dragon. And yet, she found herself eye-to-eye with a Blue Eyes as she filled a goblet with punch. A shiver passed through her spine as she stared into the blank, elaborately carved eyes of the dragon; since Seto had first shown her the card early on in their relationship, she felt an almost magnetic attraction to the mythical beast. She wasn't sure if an ice bar— _open_ bar, at that—illuminated with a LED display that glowed in shades from turquoise to violet was standard fare for work parties, either—but she was enjoying it to its fullest.

Refilling her punch glass gave Kisara a welcome opportunity to step away from the table where she and Seto had planted themselves; she should have been able to predict it, but Seto was _magnetic_ , attracting what Kisara estimated to be three new people for every one that drifted away to enjoy the gala elsewhere. None of the people who flocked to Seto in hordes had much to say to them other than the kind of small talk that Kisara knew Seto dreaded: _thank you so much, what a lovely party, what a great year at Kaiba Corp it was_ congratulations _sir._ As Seto had accurately predicted, Kisara found herself more the recipient of curious stares than any questions; so far, most of her time at the gala had been spent giving what she hoped to be cool and dignified smiles to KaibaCorp employees who stole glances at her in between stiff, formal exchanges with Seto.

Kisara drained a long sip from her glass, admiring the hypnotizing lights behind the bar as they pulsed from a bright cyan to a more gentle shade of sky blue. The bartender, a spiky-haired boy with smooth, copper skin that appeared to glow from within, winked as her gaze passed over him, and Kisara felt her heart skip a beat before she looked away awkwardly. She wasn't plain looking, per se, but didn't tend to flaunt her looks on an average day; the extra attention she was receiving in her fancy, well-fitted attire, on top of the attention she was receiving by virtue of being the mysterious _Mr. Kaiba's Girlfriend_ , was overwhelming. The whole scene—the gently glowing lights, the elegant clothing, the smell of alcohol and hors d'oeuvres, the soft music that gently muffled the chatter of hundreds of people to a distant, muffled buzz—started to overwhelm her. Her head felt like it was spinning, and was about to lean her palm against a table when she was startled by the feeling of a tap on her shoulder.

"Ahh! You scared me!" Kisara found herself face-to-face with Mokuba, who was standing behind her.

Mokuba looked sheepish; Kisara wasn't sure if she was imagining the smell of punch on the boy's breath. "Seto's outside, in the lemon grove," he said softly, leaning close to Kisara as if he were sharing a critical secret.

Remembering Mokuba's words earlier about Seto and his difficulty with crowds, Kisara felt her heart jump, and suddenly the world jumped back into focus. "Is he alright?" she asked, feeling her lips purse with concern.

"He's alright," Mokuba nodded. "He made his appearances, and the employees are happy. I think he wants you to join him."

Kisara nodded gratefully, watching as Mokuba disappeared into the crowd. The younger boy appeared to be enjoying the attention he was receiving, delightedly shaking the hand of a middle-aged woman who was appeared to be staking out the young vice president, but he glanced over his shoulder to give Kisara a final, encouraging nod. Kisara smiled back, stopping to grab her full punch glass before slipping into the hallway. She gave the security guard posted by the back-door to the kitchen a quick smile and a nod before slipping past him, and into the freezing-cold night.

* * *

The Kaibas' yard was huge; the lemon grove lay in the distance past a rock garden covered in a layer of snow that glistened in the moonlight. Kisara shivered. In her haste to escape the gala in search of Seto, she had forgotten to take a jacket along with her. She shuddered, quickening her pace as much as she would dare without risking slipping on the slippery, coarse snow. The snow in the rock garden was hard-packed by the footsteps of the dozens of workers who had traveled between the kitchen and the backyard to set up for the gala, but at the edge of the garden, a single set of footsteps led off into the trees.

Seto Kaiba was wrapped in a fur-lined coat that Kisara desperately wanted to claim for herself and bury her face into. He turned as he heard her approach, taking a few steps towards her. She felt both embarrassed and relieved as she saw him remove his coat and wrap it around her bare shoulders.

"Good God, Kisara. You could have stopped for a jacket." Seto's voice was stern and patronizing in a way that made Kisara feel indignant, but she was too cold to protest.

"Mokuba said you wanted me here. I came," she responded. She took a step towards him, scrunching the sleeve of his coat up so she could grasp his hand. "You doing okay?"

Seto's smile was uncharacteristically soft. "I'll be alright," he said, giving her hand a quick pulse. "Come on, walk with me." The pair set off on a wayward path through the frozen lemon trees.


	13. In Sickness

She had been with him for months now, but Kisara still hadn't quite managed to shake the idea that Seto Kaiba _wasn't_ invincible. It wasn't to say that she didn't know about the well-publicized Duel Monsters losses, or his well-hidden struggles with social anxiety and agoraphobia. She had seen photographs of Seto as a youngster—all of them in existence, she was fairly certain—and knew the dark, troubling stories behind each and every one of them. But despite Seto Kaiba's personal troubles and difficult past, nothing seemed to be capable of _physically_ harming Seto Kaiba. His body, Kisara had theorized, might be a very tall, slightly gawky, broad-shouldered Teflon vessel, immune to mundane human pathogens and the normal wear and tear associated with being a person in the outside world.

Which was why it was took her by such surprise when she awoke in the middle of the night to find Seto missing from bed, and a path of light glowing from his private bathroom, wide enough to indicate that the door was left open. She was dimly aware of these facts, but too sleepy to comprehend them, until she heard a terrible retching from inside the bathroom. Kisara rushed into the room, dizzy and half-asleep and freezing cold, to find a pale, sweaty Seto slumped onto his knees on the cold tile floor, taking short, shaky breaths. Upon seeing her, Seto had shaken his head at her, signaling for her to leave him alone before he collapsed into another fit of vomiting.

Kisara's bathrobe was drying on a towel rack a few feet away, she gently took it down and wrapped it around Seto's shoulders. He looked at her briefly, shaking his head before staring away from her. Kisara leaned over him, stroking damp brown bangs from his forehead. He felt unnervingly warm to the touch.

"Everything okay?" Kisara crooned, perching herself on the edge of the bathtub.

Seto shook his head again; his damp bangs sent sweaty droplets onto the floor. "Just go," he mumbled. Kisara watched in amazement as Seto curled up on the floor, tucking his knees to his chest. "It's fine."

"Obviously, it's _not_ fine. Are you ready to go back to bed?" Seto gave a meek half-nod, and Kisara grabbed his arm, pulling him into an upright position. His weight tipped forward, and she stumbled, momentarily panicked that she would fall and he would and on top of her; hastily, she grabbed onto the towel rack to stop her fall and readjusted her weight.

"It'll be okay, Seto," she said softly, pulling back the covers and rolling him into the bed. Seto mumbled something in response that Kisara couldn't make out, seeing as he was talking into a pillow. She tiptoed outside, hastily making her way downstairs to the kitchen to fetch something for him to drink.

…

The thermometer beeped, and Kisara delicately extracted it from Seto's mouth, grimacing when she saw the number on the instrument. "One-oh-three point six," she grimaced, stroking Seto's forehead with the back of her hand. "That's not great. We should take you to the hospital, Seto."

Seto's head was sandwiched between two pillows. "Kisara. Leave me alone," he grumbled.

"Okay, fine. But if you still have this fever tomorrow morning, we have to take you in. Alright?"

" _Ughhhhhhhhhh_."

Kisara rolled her eyes. "Come on. I got some flu medicine for you at the store. Why don't you guys own flu medicine?" The bottle of pills opened with a soft rattle, and she shook two bright-blue tablets into the palm of her hand.

"Don't need it," Seto groaned quietly.

"Are you _kidding_? You can't even make it from the bathroom to your own bed."

Seto's response: "Don't want...don't want to be dependent."

Kisara bit her lip, struggling to keep her annoyance in check. So Seto could be just as stubborn when he was sick, apparently. "That's a stupid argument. You're not _dependent_ , you're just giving your body what it needs to bring down your fever and give you some peace. Is it _seriously_ worse to take some flu medicine with a one-oh-goddamn-three fever, or to get sicker and leave your whole company hanging? Not to mention me and Mokuba."

"One-oh-four," came Seto's weak response.

"What?"

"Point-six means you round up," Seto grunted.

It was difficult for Kisara to suppress a frustrated scream. "I...oh, right, you round up the decimal. Fine. Come here, you big baby." Kisara tapped gently on his shoulder, and helped him to adjust the pillows until he was propped into a sitting position. "Take these," she commanded him softly, transferring the flu medicine into the palm of his hand and grabbing a half-full glass of water from the nightstand.

To her great relief, Seto took the medicine without questioning, and drained the rest of the glass of water. "What now?" he said grumpily, slumping back into a sleeping position and pulling one of the pillows back over his head. "I feel the same."

Kisara sighed. "It takes a little bit. Try to sleep, okay? I'll give you some space." She watched Seto nod and nestle deeper into the covers before turning around and heading for the door. She was _supposed_ to spend the day coding and sipping on an ice-cold mocha, but now she was caring for her cranky, obstinate boyfriend.

Still, something about turning about-face and leaving a feverish, weakened Seto Kaiba in his bed felt wrong. She closed her eyes, turning around while silently berating herself for being such a sap, and pressed her lips quickly to his cheek before turning around and leaving again.

* * *

"Something's wrong with Seto." Mokuba was sitting on the storage bench outside of Seto's room, kicking his legs anxiously at the carpet. He looked up at Kisara, and she pursed her lips, trying to hide her alarm that his wide violet eyes looked watery.

"He has the flu, I think. He took some medicine. You're brother's gonna be okay." Kisara sat down next to Mokuba, cautiously placing her hand over his.

Somewhat to her surprise, the boy turned his palm upwards and curled his fingers around the top of her hand. "Seto doesn't take medicine," he said cautiously.

Kisara couldn't help but snicker. "Yes, he told me that. But he came around. It's going to be all right, Mokuba." Her eyes met his, and she smiled in a way that she hoped looked encouraging.

"Is it _that_ bad, then?" Mokuba fretted. Kisara's heart jumped with alarm as his voice started to rise with panic again.

"It's going to be okay, Mokuba. It's just a bad cold."

Mokuba looked at her suspiciously. "You said the flu," he accused.

"Maybe. I don't know what it is. He's going to be okay."

Mokuba hesitated for a moment. Kisara watched as the younger boy's brow furrowed as if he were contemplating something very carefully. "Can I stay home from school?" he asked.

Would Seto allow his younger brother to take the day off just because he fell—albeit somewhat violently—ill? Kisara wondered. This was, indeed, the man who had attempted to shake her off while he was vomiting and collapsed on the bathroom floor. Then again...Kisara looked to Mokuba, who was staring anxiously at the ground. "Alright, alright. Stay here with me today, and we can look after Seto."

* * *

For all of the times that Mokuba had come to Kisara for food, pleading for her to cook for him, Kisara had come to assume that the boy had no cooking skills. She was surprised, then, when he asked her to take her to the store that morning. Doubly surprised when she met him at the end of the cash register and he was carrying a roasted chicken and an assortment of vegetables. Triply surprised when she emerged from checking on Seto to find Mokuba standing on a stepstool, hovering gracefully above a stock pot full of sizzling vegetables. The whole kitchen smelled fragrantly of celery and onions.

"You cook," Kisara remarked, not bothering to hide her surprise.

Mokuba was opening a large can of chicken broth. A forceful hiss echoed through the kichen as the cold liquid hit the bottom of the pot, and the savory steam obscured the boy from Kisara's vision.

"Not really. I looked it up on the internet." With his soup now simmering cozily on the stovetop, Mokuba retrieved a cold can of soda from the fridge, and sat down next to Kisara.

Kisara smiled fondly. "Soup for your brother, huh?" She smiled.

Mokuba nodded. "I read somewhere that, scientifically, chicken soup is supposed to help with upper respiratory infections," he said thoughtfully. The words sounded suspiciously rehearsed, as if he had just finished reading the article and didn't quite fully understand it.

Kisara's heart was thoroughly warmed. "Sure, I bet."

* * *

"Mokuba, come on. Don't you want to bring your soup up to Seto?" Kisara was carefully balancing a tray of soup, bubbly water, and a napkin with flu medicine carefully folded inside. "It's going to get cold."

Mokuba looked up from his seat on the sofa. He was still curled up under a thick blanket, and his eyes looked surprisingly forlorn. "It's okay. You do it," he said softly.

Kisara frowned, setting down the tray on the coffee table. "Is everything okay?"

Mokuba hesitated, pointedly avoiding her gaze. "I just...if he's doing really bad...I just...I don't like seeing him...like that," he blurted out finally, cupping his chin in both hands. "I-"

A wave of empathy rushed through Kisara, and she pulled Mokuba into a quick hug. "It's all right," she said softly. "I'll make sure he's doing okay, all right?"

Mokuba nodded, sniffling softly.

"And I'll make sure you get the credit."

Kisara had very little experience balancing precarious, heavy trays loaded down with liquids. She struggled to open the door to Seto's bedroom with her elbow to maintain her two-handed grip on the food tray, whacking the door ajar with her knee. To her surprise, Seto's night-light was on, and he was propped up in bed, wearing his glasses and typing away with his laptop balanced between his knees.

"You're up," Kisara remarked, handing him the tray.

"Observant, I see," Seto remarked softly, stretching out his legs to form a flat surface for Kisara's offerings. "Here, Mokuba made you some soup. The kid's worried about you, Seto."

Seto frowned. "He's an anxious kid," he remarked, his eyes narrowing.

Kisara rested her head against Seto's shoulder. "Can't you worry about that another day, when you don't have a one-oh- _four_ degree fever?"

Seto wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "One-oh- _one_ , Kisara," he said, with a voice full of amusement.

Kisara's eyebrow arched with amusement as she watched him unfold the napkin full of medicine, and swallow the pills down with a glass of water. "Think the medicine had anything to do with it?" she joked, adjusting her position so she could gauge his reaction.

Seto looked momentarily caught off guard, but his face quickly assumed the darkened demeanor Kisara expected when he was being teased. Giggling softly, she crawled forwards on the bed to plant a kiss on his forehead. "Wait a moment," she said suddenly, springing up.

The look on Seto's face quickly turned from darkened to confused. "What's going on?" he asked, pausing for another sip of water.

Kisara grinned. "I think there's someone who's going to want to see you. Wait up, please..."

The relief on Mokuba's face was simply radiant as the younger boy rushed towards his brother, eagerly sliding into the bed next to him. "Seto! Feeling better?" he bubbled.

Seto's sigh was distinctly, comically pronounced; Kisara surmised that he was trying to reassure his younger brother that he was, indeed, going to be okay. "Just fine, kid," he said softly, graciously accepting his brother's hug.

Luckily Seto's bed was a king-sized monstrosity, or Kisara wouldn't have any room. She settled down on Seto's other side, entwining her arm with his. "You know, it's early," she said thoughtfully. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Mokuba's and Seto's faces turned to her, both equally confused. "I don't get it," Mokuba said finally.

Kisara smiled. "We could all just stay in bed and watch a movie here..."

* * *

 _Author's Notes: So, it's been awhile! A whole bunch of thanks to everyone who read/reviewed since I last updated-it's a really neat feeling to know that people are reading what I've been writing :D And the first chapter officially expired in my doc manager so...I guess this is a real thing that's been going on for awhile now :)_

 _If anyone here has a tumblr and is interested in having a chat, my tumblr is tangled-upinlights-I haven't been super great at being responsive, but the Yugioh fandom has been very welcoming and kind to me so far and I would like to sincerely thank everyone for welcoming me into the Yugioh fandom community! Still writing, but more in the brainstorming stage right now than anything-if anyone has requests or anything of the like, that would be amazing :)_

 _Till next time!_

 _~Mei_


	14. One of Those Days

"Life isn't faiiiiiiir," she groaned. She flung herself dramatically onto Seto's office rug, sprawling herself onto her back with a muffled thump.

"That has always been the case," Seto remarked, pausing and wheeling his desk chair around until he was in front of Kisara. "But then, it can't just be biased against _you_ , so that kind of evens the playing field, don't you think?"

Kisara groaned, shaking her head violently. Some days were fine, and she felt happy and productive and worthy of the richest twenty-three year old in Domino City. Then there was today.

Today had felt like an exercise in continual humiliation. She had woken up late, discovering that Seto's pillow was already gone, and the man was, probably, already hard at work downtown at nine-fifteen on a Tuesday morning. She was subsequently late to class, and hid in the back row under the projector, trying to eat her almond croissant as inconspicuously as possible—a bad choice of breakfast pastry, considering that it left an explosion of powdered sugar and flaky crumbs all over her desk, lap, and the floor around her. Deciding that the class was a wash, Kisara resolved to sneak out of class, only to bang her knee loudly on the chair in front of her on the way out, attracting the attention of everyone in the room as she awkwardly froze like a deer trapped in the headlights, feeling hot with shame as she sprinted towards the door. As she tried desperately to collect herself, she realized that she had left her phone in the lecture hall, and crept back in to retrieve it, painfully aware of her professor's eyes tracking her scuffle of movement in the back of the classroom. And by one-fifteen in the afternoon, she was sprawled across the rug in her boyfriend's office. An _expensive_ rug, probably, worth more than she ever would be. A rug that was walked on countless times every day by her billion-dollar boyfriend. Kisara's dark blue eyes squeezed shut, and she groaned as a fresh wave of shame and embarrassment washed over her.

"Don't do that." Kisara was suddenly aware of a firm pair of arms lifting her off of the rug, and she found herself in Seto's lap, with his arms wrapped tightly around her. "You can't throw yourself onto the floor at the first sign of adversity."

Kisara glared at him, protesting with a soft grumble as he pecked gently at her cheek. "You've _never_ had one of those days?" she said, unsure of whether to be annoyed or amused at Seto's mock-patronizing behavior.

Seto smiled, resting his chin against the hollow of Kisara's neck. "You're going to have to be more specific."

Kisara curled her hand around Seto's arm. "One of those days when you just, as much as you try, you just can't do _anything_ right."

Seto lifted her up, placing her gently on her feet, shuffling to stand in front of her. Wearily, Kisara balanced herself on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around Seto's neck and pulling him closer to her; in return, she felt his arms pull her in close to his body.

"I can't say I have." His voice, though not lacking its signature cool finesse, sounded slightly amused.

Kisara sighed. "Not now, Seto," she grumbled.

His face was pressed to hers; she could feel his cheeks tighten as he smiled, giving her a little extra squeeze. "It's all right, Kisara. Some of just don't have entire days to waste."

Her eyebrows furrowed with indignation, and she took a step backwards, folding her arms across her chest. Accidentally or not, he had touched on one of her deepest insecurities—that she was too small, too stupid, too insignificant to adequately fulfill the role of Seto Kaiba's girlfriend. " _Jerk_ ," she spat.

Seto's eyes narrowed coolly, and Kisara became distinctly aware that he was playing with her, which stoked her irritation even further; she could feel the color rising in her cheeks. "The day's not over yet, Kisara. Don't tell me you've ruined the whole thing?"

She glared at him, brows deeply furrowed. "Hey, screw you," she snapped.

Seto continued to stare at her. His eyebrow arched almost imperceptibly higher. "Go on."

"Fine! Yeah, I have more work to do," Kisara sighed. "Don't be so patronizing."

Seto smirked, closing the distance between himself and Kisara, and planting a kiss on her cheek. "That's more like it," he said encouragingly.

"You're being a jerk again," Kisara warned.  
"And you're not whining on the floor of my office."

Kisara rolled her eyes, begrudgingly returning Seto's kiss. "That's right, I have things to do."


	15. Nightmares

_So a neat thing happened to this chapter, and that thing is that_ Moonluster _beta-read it for me :) She's writing a fantastic Blueshipping story of her own called_ The Blue String of Fate _and a companion piece called_ Mokuba's Thought Journal ( _literally who can get enough of Blueshipping? Or Mokuba?) that I highly recommend :)_

* * *

Nightmares

* * *

 _In his dreams, sometimes, he was still here. He recognized him by his distinctive silhouette: the slim shoulders, the proud, upright posture, the spiked violet, black, and blond locks. Sometimes he knew he was there, and sometimes he didn't. This time, Seto was almost certain. He was standing on a bridge, with his back turned to Seto, silent, motionless, and expectant._

 _Seto's heart pounded, blood roaring in his ears. His breathing quickened until his lungs ached. He became aware that his skin felt clammy and ice cold; the world felt like it was moving in slow motion. Even through all of these years he had spent thinking about Atem, he never really knew what he would say to him. He stood motionless, exhilarated, feeling something dangerously close to rage. His rival, his tormentor, the one person who had tried to save him, and then abandoned him...there he was. He was back. Specifically, to see him._

 _Try as he might to suppress his emotions, when he saw Atem, every urge and reaction came flooding back to him at once—terror, pain, rage, exhilaration, exultation, mania and desire, and he was powerless to stop them. So he stood, frozen, staring at Atem's back, drowning in the emotions he tried so hard to hold back._

 _Atem started walking, with the brisk, confident stride of someone with places to be. Seto followed him—this had happened before, he had always followed him—desperate not to let the man out of his sight. The walking gave him a purpose, and the emotions started to dissipate—Atem was taking him somewhere. All he had to do was follow. So follow he did, and the torrent of angst was quelled, temporarily, to a determined, desperate attempt that disallowed Atem to get away from him again without giving him answers...or closure._

 _They crossed the bridge into the industrial part of town, snaking their way through darkened alleyways hemmed in by buildings so tall that they blocked out the sky. Was it him, or were the buildings getting closer and closer together? Was Atem getting farther and farther away? Why were there so many branching paths through the alleys—why was it so dark, why couldn't he see, and why couldn't he go any faster...the walls were closing in, and the darkness was palpable, it was thick, hot, and suffocating._

 _Even through all of this struggle, Atem was getting farther and farther away. ...He was never going to reach him...he couldn't see his rival through the thickening darkness anymore, and he was alone, and the darkness was pressing in on him, and he was alone._

 _Again, he was alone._

 _He had followed Atem only to be abandoned in the darkness. Terror coursed through his veins as he realized, numbly, that this was his punishment for everything he had done, that the painful, terrifying isolation was a fitting fate for him. How appropriate for him to repent for his sins by following the only man he had ever grown to trust straight into the immutable darkness of his own heart. He was frozen, trapped in place, with the metallic taste of fear creeping up his throat. What a fitting destiny, for him to be trapped for all eternity in the dark, because all of his victories, all of the good he has done in the world, is blotted out by the evil, the misery, and the shadows...of his own heart._

 _Flash. A blinding white light illuminates the unknown, shattering into a bouquet of silver sparks that drift gently towards the ground. Seto watches in awe as the silver specks of light flicker, pushing away the darkness, and the bitter taste of fear on his tongue starts to ebb. As the flecks of light rain down, they illuminate an unmistakable form on the ground—Kisara._

 _Kisara stares at him, with wide, gentle, soft eyes. She radiates a soft light that bounces off of her cheeks and shines in the silver of her hair. Her eyes are bright in a way that consumes the darkness in the room, and Seto staggers forwards to hold her, whimpering softly with relief._

 _A laugh, an unmistakably sinister laugh, echoes through the undefined dreamland space, and Seto recognizes that laugh—it's Atem's laugh, and he is punishing him—in this space. In all spaces, he reigns supreme, and he knows the darkness inside of Seto, and he knows that Seto does not deserve light, warmth, and love._

 _Kisara rises to her feet and closes her eyes, extending her arms and tilting her head backward. Somehow, Seto knows what will happen, moments before it does. He sprints forwards, desperately reaching towards Kisara. His arms are almost around her—he's so close—he makes a last, desperate attempt to grab her shoulder to pull her towards him, but it's too late. Kisara is disintegrating, decomposing into particles of light that scatter and disappear, and the light is fading—and he's too late…_

* * *

"Help! Please, don't...please..."

She is awake in a half-second flat, eyes wide-open as she scans her surroundings for danger. Moonlight streams through an open window and the gossamer curtains flutter delicately. The room is pleasantly cool and just light enough to make out the rough outlines of objects. She turns to Seto, her heart screaming in her chest. Did she imagine his cry for help?

"Don't...don't go..." Seto cries out, and instinctively, Kisara shakes his shoulder, leaning down to examine him. Adrenaline courses through her system, and she feels almost superhuman, ready to defend her love...

Seto Kaiba's eyes are open; she can see the subtle glint of moonlight reflected in them. His pupils are dilated, he's trembling, and his entire body is rigid. She isn't sure if he knows she is there. Tenderly, she drapes her arm across him, weaving underneath his tensed arm and resting her hand on his chest. He is still shaking, unresponsive. Kisara presses herself closer to him, pressing her lips to the nape of his neck, willing herself to be calm as every synapse in her brain is firing at once, clamoring to understand exactly what is happening. His skin is white with chilled, damp sweat. Even in the dim, cold light, she can tell that all of the color has drained from his cheeks.

The door swings open with a sudden flurry of commotion, and Kisara raises her head, alarmed. Mokuba dashes into the room, holding a glass of water and something in his closed palm and swings himself onto the bed next to Seto. She tries to gauge the expression on the younger boy's face as he firmly shakes his brother's shoulder, apparently oblivious to Kisara's presence. His face is taut and his expression is unreadable.

Mokuba pulls his brother into an upright position, pulling the blankets from under Kisara's arm and draping it around Seto's shoulder. Kisara pulls herself into an upright position, craning her head to watch as Mokuba coaxes something into Seto's mouth, tipping water from the glass into his mouth.

"It's just a dream, Seto," the boy murmured, nudging his brother back into a sleeping position.

"It's a dream. It doesn't mean anything." Kisara can feel Seto's shaking start to abate slightly, although he still won't acknowledge anything that is happening around him. "We're right here, Bro. It's all right." A lump rises in Kisara's throat as she watches Mokuba lean back against the headboard of the bed, drawing his knees up to his chest and sitting watch over Seto, stroking his shoulder comfortingly with one hand.

She feels frozen, unsure of her place in this situation. Mokuba's voice is unwavering, and he radiates a sort of resigned confidence. Horrified, Kisara realizes that this must have happened in the past, probably more than she could imagine. Seto is lying on his back, with his arms limp at his sides; she holds his hand in both of hers, resting her head against his shoulder. She chances a glance at Mokuba, who bites his lip and looks away. Kisara isn't quite sure of the emotion in Mokuba's eyes—fear? Embarrassment? Whatever it is, the boy redirects his focus to Seto, rhythmically massaging his shoulder, and Kisara stares at the cotton pinstripes on Seto's pajamas.

The moment feels like an eternity, wandering aimlessly towards infinity. She can feel Seto's body slowly start to relax, and she props herself up on an elbow to get a closer look at his face. His eyes are closed again, his expression is more relaxed, and his sweaty bangs are beginning to dry. She brushes them off of his forehead, planting a kiss on his temple. He rolls over, grasping clumsily at her waist, and pulls her body close to his. She feels the dull pressure of his chin on her skull, and he wraps his body around her, with his arms holding her tight.

She feels a shifting of pressure on the mattress, and Mokuba makes his way around to her side of the bed, with a troubled expression on his face. He looks forlorn, staring but not at anything. His shoulders are tense and uncomfortable. She can't find the words to comfort him—how can she assure him that Seto is safe with her if this is clearly such a practiced routine that she has no part in? She stares up at him, steadily gazing into his violet eyes.

"I promise I'll stay," she whispers finally. Her voice cracks slightly, and she isn't sure if Mokuba can hear her. At least, she can promise him that—that she will stay and protect his brother as best she can.

Mokuba looks up, nodding quickly. He stands motionless for a moment as if he is weighing his options. Then he nods again, and she isn't sure if she just imagined the tiny, comforting smile that flashes across his face. He disappears down the hallway with quick, hurried steps.

Left alone again with Seto, she puts her hand on the arms that surround her so tightly and closes her eyes. _I promise I'll stay._

* * *

 _OK SO CONFESSION TIME-I'm also a Prideshipper. Not in the sense that I think it would be a particularly fulfilling or healthy relationship, but that Seto had some feelings for Atem (and a lot of lingering feelings left). Which is something I wanted to explore a little deeper as we sort of flesh out a picture of Seto and Kisara...thoughts? If you have them, feel free to review or PM me :)_

 _Thanks for reading!_


	16. Kiki

_Mokuba_ : "You know, you never told me about yourself. Like, where you grew up. Where did you come from?"

The words are jarringly abrupt to Kisara, who is perched at the stovetop making crepes. Crepes are finicky: timing and crepe batter volume and consistency are all finely tuned variables for the perfect tender, lacy-brown pancake. Mokuba's sudden question startles her mid-pour, and too much batter spills into the pan. She sighs, trying to spread the mixture as thin as she can, but now she is dealing with a deflated flapjack.

"From nowhere," she says, wiggling a spatula under the crepe before it burns on the edges. "A little town by the mountains, in northern California. That's a weird question to ask."

Mokuba is sitting at the table, half-listening to Kisara and half-scrolling though something on his phone. "Not weird," he says, sounding a little indignant. "You're from California. That's not nowhere."

Kisara flips the pancake, and it lands in the middle of the hot pan with a sizzle of steam. "Where I'm from is, basically, nowhere. The biggest attraction is a state college party school, _in another town_." She rolls her eyes. "It was never really important, is all. That's why it never came up."

Mokuba sets his phone on the table, looking thoughtful for a moment. "It's important, though," he says. "Where you come from. It's all a a part of who you are, and where you're going."

She hoists the sad pancake up and drops it onto Mokuba's empty plate. "For you. And, I mean, maybe for you and Seto. Not for me. It wasn't eventful. Other kids thought I was an albino computer nerd. My parents managed a cafe near Chico State." She stops, holding her breath as she flicks her wrist to evenly distribute crepe batter around the pan. "I like to think of myself as rising out of the northern California redwoods like a phoenix." She sets down the pan, drumming her fingers against the countertop as she waits for the crepe to cook. "Or a dragon." She smiles serenely, imagining one of Seto's beloved blue eyes white dragons launching itself into the air, breaking through a canopy of redwoods, emitting a joyful screech as it circles the mountains and flies, higher and higher, into the moonlight.

* * *

A familiar Saturday night scene: Seto sits on the couch, with his knees propping up his laptop as he types away steadily at something; Mokuba is on the carpet, lying belly-down watching a movie channel on the television; Kisara's head rests against Seto's shoulder while she reads something on her phone. Empty delivery boxes of rice and various flavors of curry are scattered across the coffee table. The brothers have half-empty cans of soda near them, and Kisara holds a wine glass full of sparkling rosé.

"Kiki. That could be your nickname." A promotion for the upcoming showing of _Kiki's Delivery Service_ makes Mokuba turn his attention towards Kisara.

Kisara bites the inside of her lip, and she takes a sip of sparkling wine. "When I was a kid, I tried to get the other kids to call me Kiki," she offers, adjusting her position so she's looking at Mokuba. "My parents didn't like it, though. They said that they named me _Kisara_ for a reason, because they thought it was pretty, and _Kiki_ was just a cheap bastardization."

"Like Seto thinks about _Mokie_." The younger boy frowns and he looks up to gauge his brother's response; Seto, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, offers only a soft grunt.

Mokuba purses his lips, gazing thoughtfully at Kisara for a moment. " _Kisara_ suits you, though," he says, finally, with a little nod. "It's graceful and pretty."

Kisara blushes. "Thanks, Mokie," she murmurs softly, pausing for another sip of wine. "I guess I like it too."

"Why'd you want _Kiki_ , then?" Mokuba presses. He pushes himself up onto his knees, searching through the delivery bag for fortune cookies. Finding one, he extracts the cookie from the cellophane paper, dropping the wrapper on the ground. Seto sighs loudly, and he puts the wrapper back into the bag, rolling his eyes.

Kisara thinks for a moment. "Nobody had a name like _Kisara_ where I grew up," she explains finally. "I was already different enough with the white hair. A name like _Kisara_ made me different, and I didn't want anyone to bother me."

"Did they?" Mokuba asks.

Kisara stops to reflect for a moment. "Yes, they did. But I was quiet, and I liked to spend my time learning how to do things on the computer, and I learned that if I got good enough at things, then I could go somewhere far away and study them at a university. So I guess I grew out of caring, really."

"Whatever you say, Kiki," Mokuba says, a devious smile creeping up his face.

"Oh, shush, you," Kisara chuckles, waving her hand at him in a playful-dismissive way. "The movie's starting. I like _Kiki's Delivery Service_. Watch with me."

* * *

"Tomorrow is Mother's Day." Seto, trimming his stubble with a razor, pauses, staring at Kisara's reflection in the mirror in front of him.

"R-right," Kisara responds. She stands beside him, leaning over the sink to apply a pearl-pink lip balm.

"I take Mokuba to our mother's memorial plot every year. We bring flowers, and have a picnic." He pauses for a moment, setting the razor down.

"That's sweet," Kisara offers, faltering slightly.

Apparently satisfied, Seto splashes his face with cold water. "She died when he was born. He doesn't remember her," he says, his voice cold and matter-of-fact.

Kisara screws the lid onto her pot of lip balm, reaching out to grab Seto's arm. "You remember her, though," she says softly, glancing into his eyes. His brow is knit tightly together, and she knows him well enough to read the subtle sadness written into the lines of his face.

"She was a good mother, kind and devoted. So was my father. When they learned that they were going to have another son, my father started working more and more, to provide for a new member of our family. I wouldn't see him for days. But my mother always made sure, no matter how many hours she had to work, that she came home to feed me dinner and see me to bed at night." Gently, Kisara guides Seto by the shoulder onto his bed, and they sit together in silence for a moment.

Seto's voice cracks almost imperceptibly. "She was an emergency room nurse at the hospital—smart, and brave, and very kind. I think she would have approved of you."

A lump rises in Kisara's throat, and she leans her head against Seto's chest, intertwining her fingers with his. Guilt prickles under her skin as she envisions her own mother: probably wearing an apron, with her long silvery-white hair pulled back into a neat bun under a hairnet, with a queue of plates on one arm and holding a customer's latte in the other.

Seto gives her hand a squeeze. "We can arrange to send you back home to see your mother tomorrow, as well," he offers.

Kisara sighs deeply. "I was just going to call," she says. "Mother's day is busy for my parents, at the cafe. Parents come to visit their little college kids. They stay up all night making cinnamon roll dough."

"You're not close," Seto remarks cooly, facing Kisara with unblinking cobalt eyes.

Kisara frowns. "Not really," she says. "She's a nice lady, and they sent me to college on cafe-owner money—that's not so easy, really. But she just-" Kisara shrugs, feeling at once sad and guilty. "They never really understood me so well. They wanted me to go out into the world, and be around people like me. They're happy because they're around people like them. So it just..." she trails off for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut. "Everyone' supposed to have these really formative stories about their parents and their childhood, right? But maybe not me." Uncertainly, she chews the inside of her cheek. "I sort of think my story is starting here, now. With you."

Seto's eyes are distant, focused on something she can't see. Finally, he nods. "You're welcome to come with me and Mokuba," he says at last.

"Sure. I'd like that." Seto swiftly hops off of the bed, and Kisara follows suit. He strides across the room to lace up his work shoes, and Kisara searches for the boots she kicked off last night.

"Kisara?" Seto says suddenly, mid-lace.

"Yeah?" Kisara asks.

"Do call your mother."

* * *

 _Author's notes: First, a huge,_ huge _shoutout to Moonluster and her characters from the Blue String of Fate, who were instrumental to helping me explore Kisara's past and personality over the past few weeks. If you aren't reading The Blue String of Fate, you ought to check it out-it features a very different Seto and Kisara, but I am loving watching it progress :)_

 _Second, re: Prideshipping. I don't know if I saw any romantic or sexual attraction between Seto and YY either, to be honest-but I think, at least for Seto in that part of his life, that obsession would feel, at least in some ways, very much like he would imagine attraction to feel. He has some pretty interesting lines, especially in the Manga ;P  
I don't plan to make it a centerpiece of the story, but since that obsession cut so deep into Seto's heart, to me it plays a huge role in his psyche, which would become especially relevant to Kisara in the abandonment issues he faces after the Pharaoh returns to the Millenium world. So while it's a very Blueshipping-centric story, it's also a very fundamentally Kaiba-centric story, with all of the baggage that Kaiba brings into a relationship in his mid-twenties :)_

 _As always, I would love a review, message, all of those types of things! Till next time ~_


	17. Valentines

"This is stupid," he huffs. She scrambles on a few feet ahead of him, and turns back, laughing.

"It'd be easier if you were willing to get on your knees. You're tall, and it's steep," she calls back.

"I'm not doing that."

She rolls her eyes, digging her sneaker into the side of the hill; a bit of frozen dirt crumbles as she steadies herself. "Your choice. Come on, we don't have much time before the sun rises."

How she convinced him to hike up the hill to see the sunrise, he may never know. All he knows is that last weekend Kisara had taken Mokuba out for the day so he could work in peace, and they had come back with muddy clothes and dirt-caked sneakers, and after that, Kisara was convinced that he _needed_ to see the view from the top of a local hiking trail. He hadn't particularly wanted to oblige, but then again, he rarely obliged her, and relationships were about compromises...

… _right_? She had conveniently left out the part where the proper trail ended a good two-hundred feet from the top of the hill, and that she intended to use a series of precarious deer trails to finish their ascent. He had almost insisted on turning around then and there, but then he would have to turn around and walk back alone, in the dark, and he didn't like the idea of Kisara alone on a dark and treacherous trail.

It didn't mean that he had to climb the damn thing like a deer. He sighs, watching Kisara's flash light beam wobble a few yards ahead. The freezing air stings on his cheeks. Kisara had also conveniently forgotten to tell him that she wanted to see the _sunrise_ on the hill, and thus their hike had begun before he would usually be awake. It was also a Saturday, and one of his rare days off.

"Alright, here, let me help you." A beam of bright light temporarily blinds him, and losing his focus, he staggers backwards. His stomach lurches as he prepares himself for a fall.

"Eeep! Sorry." A hand grabs his arm, wrenching his shoulder but keeping him upright. The blinding light abates, and he finds himself looking into Kisara's wide eyes.

"Careful!" he hisses irritably.

She frowns, and her dark blue eyes widen. "Sorry, sorry. C'mon, you're almost there." She hoists him up, and as he steadies himself, he finds himself at the top of the hill.

There is scarcely enough room for two people to sit—no wonder the trailmakers hadn't bothered continuing the path all the way to the top. Kisara sits on the frozen ground, with her arms wrapped around the muddy knees of her blue jeans, and her hair tied into a hasty ponytail that drapes over one shoulder. "The sun's going to rise in a few minutes. Sit," she orders, patting the ground next to her. She grabs his hand and tugs downwards gently; sensing no other option, he sits beside her. She laces her fingers in his, resting her head against his shoulder.

He stares into the distance. From where they are, the city lights and the predawn sky blur into one—streetlights are giant sunbursts, and parking lots are tiny little galaxies. The highway is a winding, winking stream of stars flowing sleepily off into the distance.

The sky begins to lighten before the first rays of sun appear—first the navy blue of the sky starts to pale at the horizon, turning from navy to magenta to tangerine. Then the first rays of light appear, spreading light across Domino City. He watches as a miniature galaxy becomes a Wawa parking lot again, and the stream of stars becomes a highway again.

Then he looks to her. The light casts funny shadows across her face, bathing her in a soft and rosy glow. Her eyes are closed, and her head is tilted up towards the sky; a serene smile graces her lips. Her hair is made of beams of rapidly fading moonlight, and her cheeks have the soft glow of the morning sunrise. Then she opens her eyes, and stares at him with eyes the color of the rapidly lightening sky, and he squeezes her hand, feeling its' warmth and marveling at the fallen piece of heaven sitting next to him.

* * *

Early morning. Kisara sits on the granite countertop, holding a mug of steaming coffee. Seto tumbles down the stairs, wearing a navy suit and a pale blue tie. His hair is still messy, and he is still wearing his glasses.

She hands him a thermos. "For you," she says, pulling him in for a quick kiss. "Why are you leaving so early, again?" She grabs him by the shoulder and inches him closer to her, running her hand through his brown hair to smooth it.

He unscrews the lid to the thermos, tosses it onto the countertop, and slugs a gulp of coffee. Kisara cringes; from the amount of steam emanating from the container, she can only imagine exactly how much the hot liquid must be burning his throat. He swallows, grimacing, but manages to keep his composure. "We want to partner with a prominent university, with their medical school, and loan out our super-computing resources to them for use in medical research."

"I'm proud," Kisara says, tilting his chin upward with her hand so she can look into his eyes. "Good luck."

"You'll make sure Mokuba gets up and goes to school?" Seto asks, cautiously taking a smaller swig of coffee.

"Sure, sure. And I'll let you know when he gets home, too. I'll be here. It'll be kind of nice to have a day to myself."

Seto's eyes narrow with amusement. "Don't have too much fun, now," he warns, the corner of his lips drawing upwards into a smirk.

Kisara nudges nudges him on the shoulder. "Oh, for goodness' sake. I'll see you tomorrow. You'd better go, you know. Didn't you say you wanted to be out by five-fifteen?"

Seto looks at the clock on the microwave and sighs, leaning forwards and falling into Kisara. She pulls him into a tight embrace, inhaling aftershave and dry cleaning fluid and black coffee. His cheek presses against hers and she holds him tighter for a moment, then whispers in his ear, "Come on, you have to go."

"Alright. See you tomorrow," Seto says, heading towards the back door. "Take care of yourself, now."

"Hey—wait." Kisara picks up the lid to the thermos and tosses it underhand at him. "Don't forget this."

Seto smiles, adjusting his tie, and takes a long look at her. "Goddamn, I hate leaving."

* * *

Tonight is a late night, and not a very good one. He parks his car in the driveway because he can't find the clicker for the garage—it's supposed to rain tonight, hail maybe they say, but who has the energy to find the garage-door opener? He sighs, locking his car. In the distance, far up the walkway, the yellowy lights inside his house flicker with laughter. Tonight the lights in the window are mocking him for being too stupid to find his garage remote, and for having such a stupid-long walkway to the house. He hadn't designed it, he thought grumpily to himself, Gozaburo had. He had never liked the long driveway in the first place. He should just burn it all to the ground.

He stayed late at the office because there was a marketing meeting, and then there was a traffic accident on the freeway. Someone's silver sedan had hydroplaned on the freeway, and skidded straight into the center divide, but at least nobody got hurt. The freeway was a mess of lemon yellow tow truck lights and blue-and-cherry highway patrol lights and a long, angry stream of red brake lights for miles. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and thought about moving to a penthouse suite in downtown Domino City, like a proper bachelor would do.

By the time he gets home, as he's walking towards his house, tiny droplets of frost are already beginning to form over the dead grass. Ominous, dark clouds already cover the sky, and the moon is but a smudge of feeble light, hidden behind a swathe of gray clouds as thick and dark and wool. He huffs with frustration, sending a puff of white smoke swirling up to join the stormclouds.

A light appears in his line of sight; a beam of golden splashed across his path. _She_ is standing in the doorway. At this distance she is just a silhouette of soft lines and lights reflected on long, silvery hair. As he approaches, he can make out the soft contours of her body under cozy winter clothes, and he staggers wordlessly towards her. _Exalted_ is a good word, he thinks to himself, as she swims into focus. Light emanates from her cheekbones and the tips of her hair, beckoning him closer. A gust of wind kicks dead, frozen clippings of grass at his heels. He walks a little faster.

She has a gravitational pull that reels him closer to her. She is a veritable force of nature that grows stronger and stronger as he approaches, until he is almost running towards the door. As he gets closer, she her face breaks into a smile. He is so busy that sometimes he forgets to look at her face, forgets to admire the graceful curve of her lips and the startling dark blue of her eyes and the gentle warmth of her cheeks. She _is_ beautiful—so beautiful, how could he forget to look? The question halts him mid-step, and he stands on the porch with her in the doorway, hit from behind with light.

He wishes he could say something, or move, but he is frozen in place. He watches, disarmed, as her lips part into a soft smile.

"I love you," she says. Maybe he's tired, or hallucinating, but he can see her words. They bloom in the air like sparks of silver light. He stares, dumbfounded, as they float past his face, drifting lazily towards the clouds. Her words are particles of moonlight, and slowly but surely they are returning from whence they came, dancing their way into the darkness and burning tiny pinpricks into the gloom for moonlight to shine through.

* * *

She rarely outlasts him when it comes to working into the night, but she has midterms, and he doesn't. At midnight, he calls it quits and folds his glasses and places them on top of his laptop case. "I'm going to bed now," he says with a yawn. "Are you coming?"

Kisara frowns. "Debugging," she murmurs, leaning forwards and squinting at her computer. "Go ahead. I'll be in later."

Hours pass, with Kisara in the same place. She rubs her eyes. She moves into Seto's favorite spot on the couch. She changes the colors of her text editor, but nothing will stop her eyelids from growing heavier and heavier...

...it's almost morning by the time she's finally done, but it's worth the wait. She smiles to herself, and glances out the window—no traces of light on the horizon yet. The wind rustles the oak tree outside. The mirror image of the pale half-moon reflected into the lake ripples in the breeze, sending spirals of light towards the shore. She sighs, pushing herself up onto her feet, and heads up the stairs towards the bedroom.

Seto is a lump in the bed, a cocoon of pillows and navy blue comforter. She sinks wearily down next to him, sighing softly with relief as her cheek sinks into a soft, cool cushion. Inching herself closer to him, she wraps her arm around his body, wriggling herself deeper into the covers. She worries about the nightmares, sometimes, because some nights he still wakes up screaming, but tonight she can feel the calm, rhythmic inhale-exhale of his breathing. She brings herself closer to him, and her body wraps its way around his. She drapes her leg over his, pressing her weight on top of him.

She feels his warm hand grasp hers, interlacing his fingers around hers. It is the last thing she feels before she drifts peacefully to sleep.

* * *

 _HAPPY VALENTINES' DAY EVERYONE! In lieu of having a plot or timeline, at least I can be seasonally relevant.  
RE: Seto meeting Kisara's parents...yes, that should happen, I agree! It'll be tough to convince Seto to ship off to suburban Northern California to meet Kisara's parents, but I'm sure they can work something out, in due time ;)_

 _This collection was loosely inspired by "You In January" by The Wonder Years. After over three years of being with the same person, it is in fact the only love song we both agree really conveys how a relationship feels ;) Also, in general, I_ love _the Wonder Years in a way that has woven itself into everything I think and do. I could go on for hours about how great they are but I...don't think that's really of general interest? You're always welcome to message me if you want to know more about pop punk music :)_

 _~Mei_


	18. Hometown

"Why are we doing this, again?" he asks.

He grunts noncommittally, leaning back against the taxi-cab seat. Kisara presses her cheek against the window and stares out at the rows of almond trees that meld into a blurred pattern of trees and soil as they drive past on the freeway. The sky is overcast-dark and California winter-grey, with a slight fog that tinges everything with particles of dew.

It's been years. She should have gone home for Christmas, maybe, or for Thanksgiving, but it was a hassle, what with _classes and final projects and ten-hour layovers for a six hour flight._ One thing had led to the next, and _they loved her, she knew, but nobody missed her_. There was something eerie about coming back home after a long time away-like the spot-the-difference feature of an in-flight magazine, stashed in the front pocket of an economy airplane seat. Only she would never know whether or not she was right-how long the restaurant supply store has been closed for, or whether that house always had a broken window, or the exact number of frozen yogurt shops and mattress discount stores there were before she left. The last time she had visited home was before her graduation, which had been almost years ago. It felt improbable to her that so much could change in a small town in that time frame. _The roads seem bigger_ , she thinks to herself. _Wider._ The highways have three lanes to them even when there aren't exits for miles. Domino is a metropolis, bustling in it's own right, but it's highways have nothing on California's.

She leans across the middle seat, nudging Seto with the back of her hand. "My parents' cafe is right there," she says, gesturing to a street on the left of an overpass.

He nods silently, then turns away without making eye contact. She frowns, tugging on her seatbelt so she can inch closer to him. His arms are folded tightly across his chest, and his eyes are narrowed into slits and looking at nothing.

"Hey," she says, laying a hand on his shoulder and giving a soft squeeze. "It's going to be okay. I know it's not"-she stops to think, carefully gauging her words, because she never knows quite what to say about family things. It'll never get easier, she thinks. How could talking about such a traumatic subject ever get easier?

"I know it's a lot to ask right now. But I want to move in with you and Mokuba. I know I'm an adult and everything, but it just...feels kind of weird, to do that without them ever having met you." She sighs, leaning her head against his shoulder and lacing her fingers around his. "It won't be so bad." His hands are cold and rough, and and the skin around his knuckles is red and cracked, making her purse her lips with disapproval. "I told you, planes are dry," she scolds him gently. "Good thing I brought some lotion."

x

He didn't know what to expect from her childhood home, but reality turns out to be surprisingly mundane-the kind of thing evades the imagination because it is so easily forgotten. To Kisara, _home_ turns out to be a modest two-bedroom house, blue-grey with a brick chimney and a flat brick walkway. Oak trees tower over the house in the backyard, and proud, slightly droopy Bluebells grow under the windowsills in the front. She smiles graciously at the cab driver, offering him a few bills from her wallet, while he unloads the trunk, slinging her overstuffed duffel bag over one shoulder and hoisting his own matte black suitcase onto the ground beside him. As the driver pulls away, she smiles, prancing up to him and linking her arm with his.

"You're ready," she says reassuringly. "My dad's at the cafe, supervising dinner prep, anyways. He made reservations for dinner. The fanciest place in town. Something Italian." Her dark blue eyes have a playful twinkle to them. "I told them that you're, like, a fancy, high-tech CEO."

His eyebrows arch. "That didn't startle them?" he asks. He is painfully aware of what an overdone trope it is. He will never entirely live down the rags-to-riches orphan narrative. To some, he will forever be the little dreamer sixteen-year-old who turned a military weapons giant into a multibillion-dollar gaming company.

She shrugs. "We're not so far from the Silicon Valley. They hear stories like that." He can feel her scanning his face for some sort of reaction. Not finding what she was looking for, she adds, "It's not personal, Seto. They're not tech people, and they don't play many games."

"It's fine," he says coolly. "I'm just used to my reputation preceding me."

She shrugs, tilting her head to one side. "Must be kind of a nice change of pace," she offers.

It's an endearing trait of hers, always offering something gentle and positive. He smiles uncertainly. "Well, we'll find out, I suppose."

x

Kisara's mother is shorter and thinner than her daughter, with a longer, more oval-shaped face but the same wide, kind blue eyes and silky, snow-white hair. As she makes her way down the walkway, Kisara jogs forwards to greet her, and the two hug for a long moment. Seto slows to a halt a few feet behind them, awkwardly watching them embrace. How long has it been since someone other than Mokuba and Kisara had hugged him? He can't remember.

As their greeting ends, Kisara's mother takes a step backwards, looking upwards into Seto's eyes. "This must be Seto," she says.

Kisara nods, spinning around and extending her arm in a gesture towards Seto. "Right. Mom, this is Seto. And Seto, this is"-

"Call me Kazu, sweetie." _Sweetie._ Maybe nobody has called him that before, ever. Some of the older executives in the KaibaCorp act a little bit maternal sometimes-bringing him homemade lunch in plastic containers and their children's homemade cookies during their meetings-but he would fire anyone who called him _sweetie_. Painfully aware of Kisara's eyes following his every move, he extends his hand towards her mother.

"It's an honor, Ms. Endo," he says.

The older woman chuckles to herself, grasping Seto's hand firmly in hers. Her skin feels cool and dry against his. "He's a gentleman, Kisara," she tells her daughter. "So _tall_ , too. I wasn't expecting that." He looks down uncomfortably, meeting her kind, welcoming gaze. Her eyes are almost identical to her daughter's, except for the hint of crow's feet at the corners. "You have beautiful eyes, Seto."

He can feel a warm, awkward flush creeping up his cheeks. "Thank you," he says stiffly.

"Well, we should go inside." Kisara sprints ahead, flinging open the deep red front door. As he passes her, she pokes him in the forearm, and winks at him.

* * *

"Seto, we don't have a bedroom for you, but we set you up with the futon in the den." Mr. Endo, Kisara's father, is a lanky man with hazel eyes and pale, wavy hair. At first glance, Kisara bears very little resemblance to him; over the course of dinner, Seto begun to pick upon the subtle similarities: the same high cheekbones, the same thoughtful demeanor, the same absentminded way of drifting in and out of conversations.

He can't help but feel a little indignant at the idea of sleeping on Kisara's parents' couch-after all, they fall asleep together, night after night, together in his bed. He glances at Kisara for guidance, and she shakes her head quickly, her lips tightly pressed together.

"Of course," he says, giving Mr. Endo a polite nod. "If it's too much trouble, I'm sure I can find a room nearby."

Mr. Endo smiles. "It's no trouble at all," he says, smiling. "We'll show you our cafe in the morning for breakfast. It's better if we're all under the same roof." With that, he drapes his coat across the coat-rack, glancing back at Seto. "We're glad you're here, son. I'll be in the bedroom; if you forgot anything, Kisara has the keys to the car." He gives Seto a pat on the back before sauntering off down the hall, leaving Seto and Kisara alone in the living room.

x

"Don't be mad," Kisara whispers. She and Seto are seated on an overstuffed couch with a fading floral pattern; her legs are draped across his lap, and she rests her head against his chest. "They're my parents, Seto. We're not…." her voice trails off short of the word _married_ , and she frowns slightly, a shadow of uncertainty cast across her face.

He gives her a kiss on the cheek. "I understand," he says. "It's going to be strange, though. I've grown accustomed to having you there."

She looks concerned, and rests her hand against his chest. "You're going to be okay?" she asks.

"Same as when I travel alone, Kisara. I'll be fine." He hates the look she gets in her eyes when they talk about the flashbacks and the panic and the nightmares.

She nods slowly. "Alright. I'm right down the hall, you know." She glances away, still looking troubled.

He rests his head against the top of hers, breathing in the smell of strawberry-vanilla-musk perfume. "I know."

They lie quietly for a moment, with her head leaned against his chest and his arms wrapped around her waist. He watches the gently bowing branches of the oak tree outside cast dappled shadows on the grass.

"You know, we don't have to go to bed _yet_ ," Kisara says suddenly. He looks down at her, recognizing an excited, slightly mischievous look in her eyes.

"What?" he asks. "Kisara, I don't want to upset your parents…"

She rolls her eyes. "C'mon, Seto," she says. "Let me show you around town."

* * *

He draws the line at buying apple-flavored liquor in a can from the gas station. Pouting momentarily, she settles for a cup of coffee, loaded with vanilla creamer and topped with a sweet, foamy layer of Cool-Whip. Exhilarated, she guides him by the hand around the store. "Hot dogs are good," she suggests. "And two for a buck. Two for one-fifty, if you want the jalapeno cheese-stuffed kind."

He rolls his eyes at her. "I'm fine," he insists. Aside from the attendant, who sits on a stepstool and texts from behind the counter, he and Kisara are the only ones in the store. He can hear the dim buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead.

"Nobody's too good for cheap food," Kisara says in a singsong voice. "I see you stress-eat gummy sharks sometimes. Look-two for three dollars." Without waiting for a response, she snatches two bags from the shelf, nestling them into the crook of her arm. "I'll treat." She twirls the keys to her parents' dark green sedan. "Come on, let's go."

x

She pulls into an empty parking lot, turning off the headlights and parking the car facing a wall with a mural of dolphins leaping into a blue-green ocean painted on it. "We're here," she announces, yanking up the parking brake.

"This looks like a middle school," Seto says. One of the packages of gummy sharks is open on his lap, and the other is folded up and tucked into his pants pocket.

Kisara leaps out of the car. "Technically, it's a charter primary school," she corrects him, popping her head back into the car as she grabs her cup of coffee. "Come with me."

His eyes narrow. "This is weird, Kisara," he says firmly.

Kisara sighs. "It's a small town, Seto," she says emphatically. "We're not going to tip cows or shoplift or commit arson. We won't get in trouble."

Hesitantly, he unbuckles his seatbelt, stepping into the chilly winter air. Temperatures fall into the twenties at night, Kisara had warned-a good fifteen degrees warmer than night in Domino, but he hadn't been expecting the air to feel so cold and stinging against his cheeks. As if she could read his mind, Kisara smiles, touching her palm, warm from holding her coffee cup, to his cheek before extracting his hand from his sweatshirt pocket and leading him through the buildings.

x

"No. No, no, no."

Kisara stands before a rain-spout, bolted to the wall with metal straps just wide and sturdy enough to act as footholds. She drains the last of her coffee, tossing the cup into the trash can, and wedges her foot between the rain-spout and the wall. "Everyone does it," she explains. "Even the little kids, from the elementary school. You won't get in trouble, I promise."

Seto narrows his eyes, huffing slightly and releasing a swirling cloud of steam into the night sky. "It's not that," he says. "This whole thing is idiotic."

Kisara shakes her head. "It'll be alright," she laughs. "It's a good view from up here. Come on." Without waiting for a response, she hoists herself up, shimmying up the pole and onto the rooftop.

Seto groans, following her up. The footholds that Kisara used, which appeared at first to be very flimsy, are surprisingly sturdy, and he lifts himself effortlessly onto the rooftop next to her. She grins, scooting over to make way for him to sit beside her; the roofing material is cold and slicked with a melting layer of frost that glitters in the moonlight. Kisara leans back, resting against her palms, and tips her head upwards to stare into the moon. Seto catches himself staring at her for a moment, transfixed by the way that the moonlight casts soft shadows on her cheeks. Without breaking her staring contest with the dazzling silver half-moon, she gropes for his hand, wrapping her fingers around his and resting their interlocked hands against her knee. Under the pleasant spell of the moonlight, the wind that nips at his cheeks is lightened to a soft tickle on his skin. Attempting to mimic her pensive stare, he shifts his attention from the glowing pattern of light and shadows on her cheekbones to the moon, which blazes brilliantly in the Winter sky, vividly contrasting the dark navy of the sky. The midnight sky is almost the same color as her eyes, and the silver-white moonlight bears a certain similarity to Kisara's long, pale hair...he loses himself in wondering whether Kisara was shaped from a piece of the night sky…

x

"Hey." Still holding his hand in hers, Kisara taps his hand against her knee.

"Mm," he says shortly, craning his neck upwards to get a better look at the stars. A few lone grey clouds drift across the sky, stretching like pieces of damp black cotton across an otherwise radiant sky. A gentle, pulsing red light makes its' way across his field of vision, peacefully carrying its' passengers through the night.

"Thanks for coming with me," she says. She folds back, laying on the rooftop.

He looks at her for a moment, then joins her in lying down on the roof. The material is freezing-cold against his back, and he shivers. With a soft grunt, she edges her way closer to him, propping her head against his shoulder.

"So you'll help me move my stuff, when we get home," she says thoughtfully. "It's been a year since I got that place, you know. I'm gonna miss it, in a way."

Seto scoffs. "You're going to miss your walk-up studio apartment," he says in disbelief. "You told me you kept coming over because the airport was too close to your house, and you couldn't sleep over the sound of all the planes landing."

Her sigh of resignation is enough to tell him that he's won. "I guess," she concedes finally. "But you'll help me move my stuff?"

"Well," Seto says, taking pleasure in revealing this suprise to her, "Your stuff is being moved now. You'll have your own private room, although, of course," he smiles to himself, "You're always welcome to bunk with me, as well."

Kisara is silent for a moment. "I hate moving," she says after a long while. "It's such a hassle. Thanks for looking out for me, Seto."

He grins, deeply pleased with himself. "You're welcome, Kisara."

He watches the sky, observing the gentle twinkling of the stars. Other than the occasional soft rushing sound of a car on the nearby road, the only sound in the world is Kisara's even, measured breaths.

"Hey, Kisara?" he asks, holding his breath as he waits for her response.

He doesn't have to wait for long. "Yep."

He takes a deep breath. "Do you know what you want?"

He can hear the thoughtful bewilderment in her voice. "Like...what I want to do tomorrow? Or in the broader sense?"

He thinks for a moment. "The broader sense," he says at last.

"Mmmmmm…." she carries on like this for a moment, humming a soft, high-pitched note.

"I think I'd like to have a job, soon. I started with the idea of graduate school, but I think I want to be working. I'd like to know that I have a source of money."

"You have me," he reminds her teasingly, smirking.

She sighs. "You know what I mean. I'm just in school right now, but I'd like to think that if something were to happen, that I could take care of myself. Get an apartment on my own credit score. That kind of thing."

His heart hammers in protest at the stark, objective tone in her voice. "You mean, if something were to happen to _me_ ," he corrects her.

"Not necessarily. I mean, things happen to couples. You might not want me anymore. I just want to know, that if that _does_ happen"-she places a firm emphasis on the word _does_ -"I can fend for myself."

Seto sighs, rolling himself onto his stomach so he can look into her eyes. She stops staring up into the stars, and their gazes lock.

"Kisara," he says.

"Seto," she whispers back.

"I want to take care of you, Kisara." Overcome by a surge of emotion, Seto rests his head against the hollow of her shoulder and her chest; she places a hand protectively on his back. "I want to know you, forever."

He can feel her soft, pleased laugh in the rise and fall of her breath. "I know, Seto." She grows quieter, and her voice becomes more serious, "I want that, too."

"You know," she says after a long pause. "Back at the house."

"What about it?"

"I almost said we couldn't sleep together in front of my parents, because we're not _married_."

Seto's heart skips a beat. "Well, that's the fact of the matter," he responds composedly.

"I know. But Seto…" she trails off. "...I dunno, I didn't even think about it, until I said it out loud."

Seto huffs with disbelief. "I don't believe that," he says flatly. "You never, never once, considered that we might get married."

"Well, _no,_ " she corrects. "I mean, of course I _thought_ about it. It just never….." She draws lazy circles on the back of his coat with the tip of her finger. "...it never felt so real, is all." Her voice is shaky and timid. "Do you….do you think that would be something you'd ever want?"

He thinks for a moment. "I think, yes," he says slowly, agonizing over the importance of each word. "I'm not in a hurry, and things change, of course. But from where I am right now…" he looks into her eyes, gently brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. "I can see that, yes."

Clearly pleased, Kisara smiles back at him. "I'm glad," she says. "You don't mind that I want to get a job, right? I'm not going to clean your house for you."

"Kisara, you can barely keep _your_ house clean."

Kisara laughs. "Okay, okay, fair enough."


	19. New York

I

* * *

She enjoys the fact that, even though she now lives with the Kaiba brothers, she still has a room to herself, to decorate with strings of lights and fruit-scented candles. This morning, she sits at her desk, sipping on a mug of coffee with honey and mindlessly scrolling the internet. Mokuba is away for the week, being escorted by Roland to a youth robotics conference, and Seto...well, Seto hasn't woken up yet. Kisara knows how rare it was for him to catch a moment of rest, and so she carefully crept out of the room when she awoke in the morning, leaving him in a deep sleep. She smiles with satisfaction, glancing over at the blue alarm clock on her desk. 6:43 a.m...she is awake and alone, and Seto still has plenty of time to rest, even if he _does_ have to be at work later….

Her shoulders jump at the sound of knocking at her door. Closing her laptop, she peeks out of the doorway, finding herself face-to-face with Seto Kaiba.

"Ahh! You startled me," Kisara confesses with a soft giggle. "I thought you'd sleep for longer. 'Morning, sleepyhead."

She leans forwards to give him a good-morning kiss, but stops short when she gets a closer look at the expression on his face. His lips are pursed and slanted slightly upwards as if he were concealing an amused secret. Kisara folds her arms across her chest, tilting her head to one side. "Alright, clearly, you're up to something. What's up?"

Seto looks back at her, matching her gaze with a vivid bright blue stare. "Busy this weekend?" he inquires.

Kisara shakes her head. "Not really," she says, absently running her fingers through long, slightly messy white hair. "The semester just ended, and I'm not signed up for anything for Spring. I guess I was going to, like, apply for jobs or something."

"You could do that," Seto responds. "But, do you want to do that in New York City?" He smiles at her, and his eyes are wide behind overgrown dark brown hair still mussed from sleep. "We can go out to eat, and go to museums." His eyebrows arch with amusement. "People love coffee almost as much as you do in New York City, Kisara."

For a moment, Kisara is stunned into silence. "It's a Tuesday," she points out weakly.

Seto's eyes close momentarily. "The thing about hiring the best talent in the world," he says, with a certain condescending edge to his tone that makes Kisara want to object, "is that they can be self-sufficient for a day, at least." Sensing Kisara's hesitation, he pouts with mock indignation. "I didn't think it'd be a hard sell, to take you out to the big city."

"I just….I didn't expect it." Kisara's voice falters slightly. "How...how does this work, exactly?"

Seto nudges his way past her to sit on the window-bench in her room. He wraps his shoulders in the aqua-colored throw that lies abandoned on the dark blue upholstery, and glances out the window, which offers an expansive view of the mirror-still lake outside. "Right. You've never traveled with me before," he says.

Kisara's eyebrows furrow. "I have not," she says, after a moment of hesitation. "Why, though….? What is there to expect?"

He smirks, and if it weren't for the excitement that shines from every pore on his body, Kisara would be inclined to jest at him for acting so superior. "Kisara, have you ever ridden in a private jet….?"

x

At Seto's insistence, they start at a cafe, sitting at a high table made of very dark, very shiny polished wood. The gentle murmur of chatter, mixed with the rich aroma of coffee and faint strains of jazz music on the stereo, makes Kisara feel very sophisticated. She tugs at the ends of her hair, piling it into a sleek bun at the nape of her neck. An entertained Seto watches from across the table, sipping black coffee from a gleaming white mug.

"You'll get a chance to clean up before we go out tonight," he remarks. He looks only slightly more composed, with his brown hair ruffled by walking through the brisk early-Spring morning.

She winds a baby-blue hair ribbon around her hair, securing the snowy-white updo with a firm, confident tug. "I know," she answers sheepishly, "but still, I feel a little bad." She glances over her shoulder, half-expecting to see someone important-Maximillion Pegasus, the eccentric Industrial Illusions president, wouldn't be so out of place somewhere like this, she thinks-but the flow of the cafe continues as normal, leaving them relatively uninterrupted. "How long has it been since we've been out on a date date, anyways?"

He sets his coffee mug on the table and leaning back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. "You knew that you were dating the CEO of one of the world's most highly profitable companies, right?" he asserts dryly. "Do I need to remind you of all the responsibilities that come with such a title?"

Groaning softly, Kisara responds, "No, no, don't bother. I'm not upset, Seto, it's just...it's been a little bit." She tilts her head to one side, looking more closely at her boyfriend. The skin around his eyes looks taut and waxy, and his cheeks look sunken and hollow. "It's been awhile since we've gotten to catch up much, really. Are you doing alright?"

Her thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of a bearded waiter, who offers Kisara a cappuccino in a wide mug. Smiling gratefully, she sets the cup and saucer on the table next to her, and sighs as she looks at the little swan detailed in the foam. When the waiter saunters off, she returns her attention to Seto, noting with a beat of alarm the rigidity of his tightly locked jaw. "Seto, what's up?"

"I've been...busy," he says, his voice as tense as the strings of a viola.

She nods slowly, bringing the coffee mug to her lips and taking a sip of foam. "You're always busy, though," she points out. "But you don't usually look like this."

Seto's eyes narrow at her. "Hey, watch it," he retorts irritably.

"Okay, I'm sorry," Kisara bursts out finally, reaching for the container of sugar on the table next to Seto's elbow. Softening, she adds, "Is there anything going on that I should be worried about, though?"

The look in his eyes is distant, focused on something in a dimension that Kisara cannot see. A chill creeps up her spine as she watches a familiar, distant, hollow expression spread over his face. His eyes, wide and blank, refuse to meet hers. "Kisara, don't worry about it." His tone is vague and dismissive, making Kisara's brow furrow.

Her blue eyes narrow suspiciously, and she purses her lips, leaning forwards and resting her elbows on the table. "Blowing off work for a whirlwind trip to the city? This isn't like you."

He raises his chin, staring at her down his nose. "I didn't realize I should be deferring to your judgment on what is, and isn't, like me."

Kisara frowns, chewing on the corner of her lip. "I don't get what's going on," she says, arching one eyebrow. "Something's up." Her voice lowers slightly, and she reaches across the table, extending her hand towards him in a gentle invitation for him to place his hand in hers. "I want to help."

"I'm telling you to drop it," Seto says firmly. He leans back abruptly, shoving his chair away from the table; it makes a screeching noise against the polished floor as it moves that makes Kisara cringe. Snatching his empty mug from the table, he adds, "I'm going to spend some time alone." He disappears into the thick of the crowd, leaving Kisara staring bleakly at the tiny bubbles melting away in her coffee.

x

She feels guilty calling Mokuba, but she can't help herself. He should be enjoying himself and learning about robotics. He spends enough time worrying about his brother. Also, she shouldn't be tattling on her boyfriend for getting annoyed with her. But the pit of worry sits too heavily in her stomach, and she can't think of a better alternative.

Unfortunately, there are no quiet places in New York City to take a private phone call, and returning to the penthouse suite Seto reserved for the next few nights feels to Kisara like a bad idea. She settles for sitting at the edge of a large, circular plaza centered around an ornate fountain, which draws in tourists like a magnet, leaving the perimeter comparatively quiet. She frowns to herself, tapping her fingers frantically against the knee of her jeans while she waits for Mokuba to pick up.

 _Kisara? Is everything okay?_

 _Um….I don't know._

 _Are you with Seto?_

…

 _Right. Um, Kisara, you know about Industrial Illusion's Duel Monsters expo this weekend, right?_

Kisara's heart skips a beat at the carefully metered anxiety in Mokuba's voice. "I did not," she says finally.

She hears Mokuba sigh loudly, sending a burst of crackling static. Alarmed, Kisara holds the phone away from her, wincing silently.

"Industrial Illusions released a new expansion to the Duel Monsters game," Mokuba's voice explains. "They're hosting a mini-tournament this weekend, an expo of some of the best Duelists in the world, in support of the launch." Mokuba's voice is dripping with anxiety. "It's going to be Yugi Motou's first appearance since…well, years. And Joey Wheeler, and…." his voice trails off grimly.

"Did Seto not get invited?" Kisara demanded incredulously. She knows that her boyfriend's loss of the Duel King title had been a huge source of contention in his late teenage years, but she can't imagine that a former Duel Monsters champion would be intentionally excluded from such an event.

Mokuba's tone is bleak, and Kisara can practically see the disappointment in his eyes. "I begged him not to sign up," Mokuba explains. "I didn't….like what Duel Monsters competitions did to him, in the past. He made a promise."

Kisara's eyes close, and as she wracks her brain for an appropriate response, Mokuba's pleading voice jumps in, "I know he was upset about it. Promise me you'll make sure he's okay?"

A sigh escapes her before she can help it. "I'll do my best, Mokuba," she says. "I'm trying, okay?"

* * *

II

* * *

She goes back to the hotel, makes herself a cup of tea, sits on the bed with her laptop and aimlessly browses the internet. She calls and he doesn't respond. She draws the curtains and falls into a restless sleep laying on top of the sheets, which are stretched tight like the head of a drum over the king-sized mattress. When she awakens, she checks her phone again for signs of him, finding nothing, and calls again and he doesn't respond. She orders a pizza delivered to the room, eats a slice of cheese and olives and sausage and green peppers, and lays on the carpet while the television plays cooking competitions on mute in the background, casting flickering shadows on the ceiling. She calls, expecting three rings and before the automated voicemail message, and is startled to hear Seto's voice when he finally picks up on the other end.

"Hello?" His voice is low and quiet, and she can hear the wind rushing in the background.

"Seto." She props her head against the side of the bed, feeling the room sway slowly around her from sitting up too quickly. "Are you okay? I've been-"

"Calling. I know."

"Are you alright?"

"What do you think?"

A horrible feeling surges through her chest, and she blink as a strangely metallic taste creeps up her throat and into her mouth. "Where are you, Seto?" she asks.

A muffled sigh crackles through the receiver, and she holds the phone away from her ear, finding herself holding her breath.

He takes a moment to respond. "I'm outside the hotel, Kisara."

Relief floors her like a tidal wave. She isn't sure entirely where she thought he would be, but she finds herself relieved that he is alright nonetheless. "Why not come inside, then?"

"Kisara," a sharp sigh punctuates Seto's thoughts, "You don't have to deal with me."

"I don't have to," Kisara rebukes, closing her eyes with confused frustration. "I want to help you."

"You can't help me."

"Let me try."

"It's a waste of your time."

"Let me try."

Her cheeks puff up with frustration, and she releases a slow stream of air through her teeth. On the other end of the line, there is nothing but silence for a moment, which is finally broken after what feels like an eternity.

"Whatever you want."

x

The night air stings her cheeks, and an icy breeze whips the ends of her hair against her neck. She scans the courtyard until she spots a thin figure, shoulders hunched in an attempt to preserve its' heat in the cold, sitting alone on a bench.

"Hey, stranger," Kisara says, delicately placing herself on the bench a few inches away from Seto. He turns his head away as she approaches, and she draws back a few inches, feeling a dull ache in her heart.

The distant sounds of chatter and the slow grind of cab wheels against the asphalt fill the air for a moment. "Mokuba told me about the Duel Monsters tournament," she says finally, drawing her knees up towards her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "You could have told me, you know."

Seto's face crinkles into a grimace for a moment before he turns even further, hiding his expression from Kisara. "Yeah, well," he responds coldly. "What do you think you could have done about it?"

Kisara thinks for a moment, glancing upwards at the charcoal sky. "Let you talk, maybe," she replies slowly. "You don't talk about it much."

"There's not much to talk about," he says promptly. His voice is strangely flat. "I was a kid. I got obsessed. There's not more to tell."

Her lips draw into a thin, taut line. "There is, though."

A moment of silence precedes his response. "Duel Monsters helped me survive my stepfather," he says. "I engrossed myself in learning the game. I was good at strategy, and good at solving problems. I was good at it. It gave me something to think about that Gozaburo couldn't take away from me."

Kisara nods, waiting for him to elaborate further.

"Becoming the champion was easy. Losing the title was easy, too. Just like that, it was gone. You'd think it'd feel different, somehow. But everything looked the same, felt the same, tasted the same. You know as well as I do that there's something missing inside of me. Some piece is broken, or some gear doesn't quite turn. It could be explained away by the fact that I had let someone defeat me. And if I could just defeat them, then that piece of me could be whole again."

"I never did, by the way. I tried. It got out of control. I abandoned Mokuba in my quest to win back what I'd believed had been taken from me. I kept chasing a dead end and it kept leading me further and further away from the light. I knew it, too. I kept telling myself that the light would reappear if I finally caught up."

Tentatively, Kisara rests her hand on his shoulder. "That must be hard," she breaths sympathetically.

He shrugs. "For a little while. But things kept going. Mokuba forgave me...or maybe he didn't, I don't know. Things just kept moving forwards. And eventually…" Kisara feels his shoulders rise and fall sharply as he draws in a deep, unsteady breath, "...it was like it never mattered." His words are cold and bitter, and fall like droplets of ice from his mouth.

"That's what they don't talk about, you know? Everyone remembers the guy who almost drove himself and an entire company into the ground to defeat his teenage card game rival. But after that story ends, here I am. I'm still here." He finally turns to look at Kisara, flashing a bitter smile.

Their eyes meet for a long moment, and she draws herself closer to him, trying to absorb the years of turmoil that flash in his wide blue eyes. She feels the warm brush of his hand grabbing hers, giving it a tight squeeze.

"I don't really know what to say about all that," she confesses. "I'm sorry to disappoint you."

Seto's shoulders shake with a short burst of laughter. "Yeah, well, nobody expected you to."

Kisara exhales gently. "What did you expect from me, then?" she asks.

"Just...come run away with me, for a little bit," Seto responds. "I don't want to think about Domino, or the past, or Duel Monsters right now. I want to think about you."

"I'm pretty boring, compared to that."

Her heart soars as she watches the tight skin around his eyes crinkle with laughter. "I think that's okay with me."

x

Thank goodness for the city that never sleeps. Seto finds an upscale noodle house open until two-thirty in the morning, and they take a cab from the hotel. They ride to the restaurant in silence, but Kisara slips her arm around his and leans against his shoulder, watching the streetlights whisk by in a dim amber blur.

Ramen noodles at midnight are much classier an affair than Kisara would have pictured it being. An elegant succulent plant trimmed to look like a bonsai sits atop the grand table at the center of the room, and smaller tables adorn the edges of the tastefully decorated lounge. Luminous red silk lanterns fill the room with soft, warm light. A hostess guides the couple to a seat at the edge of the restaurant, next to an elaborate black-ink painting of houses with pointed roofs dotting a mountainscape. A waitress greets them with a bow and pours steaming cups of green tea.

"This is nice," Kisara remarks, her eyes widening as she glances around the room.

Seto sets his teacup back into its' saucer. "Best kept secret in New York City," he responds, looking pleased with himself.

Kisara decides to let his arrogance slide. She raises her teacup in the air, tilting her head slyly. "Well, to escapism?"

Seto's eyes narrow skeptically at her, but he lifts his glass as well, touching it to hers with a gentle clink. "In moderation," he says cautiously.

She rolls her eyes at him. "Well, all right. Well, cheers." Their glasses collide again, and her gaze continues to meet his as they tilt their glasses back in unison, and the subtle, comforting taste of green tea hits her tongue.


	20. Ghosts

One loud and stormy night, Kisara is awakened by a hushed voice. Peeking one eye open, she catches a glimpse of Mokuba kneeling by Seto's side of the bed, resting his chin against the mattress. Rain and damp, bare tree branches rattle the windows, and the world is illuminated with periodic flashes of cold, bright lightning.

"Big brother….wake up. Wake up, please?"

"Hmmmm…?" If Seto is annoyed at being woken up in the middle of the night by his fifteen-year-old brother, he doesn't show it. He props himself up on an elbow and rubs sleep from his eyes, frowning slightly with concern. "Mokuba, are you alright?"

"Can't sleep."

"Do you want….?"  
"Yes, please, Seto."

"All right, then." Kisara hears a soft grunt, and then the weight in the bed shifts. She sleepily extends one arm out for Seto, but finds only air and then crumpled blankets where his body was just moments before. Disoriented, she opens her eyes just in time to see Seto, donning his dark blue robe, disappearing from the bedroom.

She can hear Mokuba sigh loudly over the frantic sound of the rain, and she squints her sleepy eyes to bring the kid into focus. His head is rested on the mattress, but the rest of him is still kneeling on the ground. Lightning flashes outside, and she can see the sparkle of the light against his open eyes; they glow violet for a split second in the darkness.

"You can get in," she offers, patting the blankets.

Mokuba climbs into the bed and settles himself in. He sits with his head rested against the headboard and a pillow sandwiched between his tucked-in knees and his chest. "Thanks."

"No problem," Kisara says, frowning as she looks closer at Mokuba's face. "Is everything alright?"

"Can't sleep."

"That all?"

His loud sigh tells her that there is more, and struggling to concentrate through the thick fog of drowsiness, she blinks hard, to bring and pushes the covers off of her shoulders. She shivers as the cold night air kisses her skin, but feels more alert.

"I think we're cursed," Mokuba says. He pauses for a second, jutting out his lower lip, and adds, "Don't say it's like, little kid stuff. Think about it, think about the Kaibas. Death and car accidents and all kinds of bad things. I think the Kaibas have a curse."

"No, no no no," Kisara coos, drawing herself into an upright position, sitting with her shoulder touching Mokuba's. "Just bad things, too many bad things. Not a curse."

"You don't know," Mokuba responds, and there is a little bit of his brother's signature flintiness in his voice. "It feels like a curse. I can hear it in the walls sometimes, you know? Ghosts. Not just one-lots. We're cursed." He whimpers softly, and his shoulders shake.

It makes her heart hurt, to see his lower lip jut out like that, and to watch tears start to bead up at the corners of his eyes. She feels funny putting her arm around his shoulders and rocking him back and forth, squeezing his shoulder the way she has seen him do for Seto when his own bad thoughts wake him. She isn't his mom, and he's too old for such things, anyways. But Mokuba doesn't seem to mind, and he sniffles as he leans his head against Kisara's neck, and they sway back and forth with the rain pouring and thunder booming and lightning flickering outside.

X

Seto returns to the bedroom holding a saucer with a teacup and a spoon on it. He hands the saucer to Mokuba, who straightens himself up and balances the saucer on his knees while he stirs the liquid in the cup. Cinnamon and honey and nutmeg steam waft in Kisara's direction, making her mouth water. Suddenly feeling a little bit like she is intruding on something personal, she slinks back under the covers, pressing her eyes closed and inhaling the comforting smell of spiced tea.

"Thanks, bro."

A soft huff rings through the air, and the mattress squeaks like Seto is sitting on the edge of the bed. "Are you going to be okay, kid?"

The cup clinks against the saucer. "Mmmmm-hmmm."  
She opens her eyes a little bit and watches as Seto ruffles his brother's hair, his eyes narrowing affectionately. "Okay to go back to bed tonight?"

"Mmmm-hmm." Mokuba sets the mug and saucer on Seto's nightstand, on top of the alarm clock that can also project holograms.

Seto wraps his arms around his brother's shoulders, squeezing him tightly. "I'm going to be right here all night. You know that, right?"

"Mmmmm-hmm." Mokuba slides out from Seto's embrace and hops delicately off the bed and onto the floor. "Good night, Seto." He cocks his head, glancing at Kisara, and she opens her eyes and smiles at him. "Good night, Kisara."

"'Night, kid," Seto says. "Want me to walk you to your room?"

Mokuba shakes his head. "I'm okay."

"'Night, Mokie," Kisara calls out. "Get some sleep, alright?"

Mokuba swings the bedroom doors open, and they yawn back inwards as he disappears down the hallway, but they are left slightly ajar. A sliver of light from the hallway spills in across the carpet. Seto yawns and pulls himself back into bed.

X

Seto sighs deeply as he rearranges the covers over himself. Kisara blinks slowly, watching dust particles float through the moonlight. The fan blades on the ceiling twirl slowly, making a soft whooshing sound barely audible over the sounds of the wind and rain.

"You up?" Seto's voice is soft but still carries his trademark matter-of-factness.

Kisara flops onto her side, staring at the side of Seto's face that is half-buried in the pillows. "Yeah?"

"Nothing, really. I just know you're awake."

"Mokuba thinks you guys are cursed," Kisara says after a moment. Her voice breaks a little, and the words come out as a soft whisper.

Seto rolls over to face her. Their faces are close enough that his blue eyes begin to merge into one in the center of his face, but Kisara stays where she is, reaching out to rest her hand on the curve of his neck.

"Let him think that," Seto says, "better that than the truth." His eyes look sad and distant all of a sudden, and he says, "I wish I could think we had a curse."

"Why?"

He takes a deep breath and flips over onto his back with his eyes focused straight up on the ceiling. "Better than the alternative, better than free will. Curses can explain all the bad things without making them your fault. And bad things are going to happen anyways, so why not make it a curse?"

Seto's sadness is worse kind of sadness than Mokuba's, Kisara decides. His anger is hard and angry like a storm raging on the other side of a window: it is futile to try and cross that boundary, stay away. Take cover. Or watch-storms don't care. They rage on with or without an audience.

She reaches out to stroke his cheek, but stops inches from his jawline, hesitantly lowering her hand onto the pillow. "You don't deserve the bad things," she says helplessly. "And you don't know that more are on the way."

"Maybe not," he agrees, pushing the covers back and folding his arms across his chest. "But look at the poor kid. Look at his life. His mother died on the damn day he was born. Can you try, please? Try to understand how bad that must feel?" His voice is shaky with raw emotion. "He watched Gozaburo try to break me for years, and he was never allowed in the room, never allowed to help me or support me. He's been taking care of me ever since he was a kid, Kisara, trying to help me find myself while having to navigate everything for himself, too. God knows that I never got a chance to have a normal childhood, and I don't always know how to help him make choices in life." Kisara watches as Seto's wide eyes close, and his eyebrows furrow. "Sometimes I feel like I'm a part of his curse, too." His breathing becomes quicker and more shallow, and Kisara frowns, frustration forming a lump in her throat as she realizes that she doesn't know how to react.

Kisara rolls onto her back as well, the length of her arm brushing against Seto's. The tension in the air slowly begins to dissipate, and the rapid rises and falls of Seto's chest become slower and more relaxed. She allows eyes to close again.

It's hard for Kisara when the Kaiba ghosts come around to bring nightmares to the Kaiba brothers. She can't feel their presence as clearly as they can, but she is beginning to learn how to recognize their presence. As helpless as she feels not being able to help Seto and Mokuba fight off the ghosts, she is starting to learn that the ghosts disappear after a little while, and there are no solutions she can offer, no kind words that will make them go away. The best thing she can be is kind.

"Mokuba is lucky to have you," she breaths. "You know that. He knows that."

A slight smile spreads across Seto's face. "He's lucky to have you too," he says. "Things are different with you here. More normal." Seto's hand finds Kisara's, and he gives it a gentle squeeze. "It makes me feel like normal life is possible."

"Is it?"

"Mmmm. Maybe." Kisara rolls over, watching as Seto's eyes close. "Get some rest, Kisara," he says. "We all need to be up in a couple of hours, anyways."

She stays up for a few minutes, watching Seto drift into slumber. She glances at the teacup that Mokuba left on top of Seto's alarm clock, and smiles to herself. There may or may not be ghosts in the walls. The brothers have nightmares and sleepless nights, but they have also developed their own ways to survive. Life goes on.


	21. Infinity

_Dedicated to my friend Moon (aka Moonluster), the indomitable writer behind_ The Blue String of Fate _(amongst others), who inspires me to keep striving forwards, both in writing and in life. More notes at the bottom (:_

* * *

"You're quiet today."

"I'm thinking, that's all."

" _Moping_."

"It's not that. I'm just thinking."

"Thinking about something sad." Her voice bubbles like water over stones in a brook, but her eyes, sapphire-blue, are open wide and focused on him.

His shoulders heave with an enormous sigh. "About life," he says finally. "About how our days are numbered."

Her eyes are twin lakes, silent and still as they reflect the midnight sky. She tucks a strand of silvery hair behind her ear, thinking for a long moment. "I suppose," she says thoughtfully. "Do you believe in something after the End?"

"Nothing is built to last." The words cut like knives, slicing into the thoughtful stillness that surrounds Kisara. Her head jerks back in surprise, and she bites her pale pink lip. He frowns knowingly, turning away from her. "My _family_...Gozaburo's empire…the title of _King of Games_...my eternal rival. Pfft, nothing is eternal. The sun rises to set again."

He can feel her solemn gaze on his turned cheek, and uneasiness ripples like the rising of the tides in her usually calm energy. He dares not turn his head, because he is afraid to see the sadness his words have brought to her. He is the dark, ominous winds that signal an oncoming storm-unwanted, unanticipated, too powerful to deny. He hates that he brings darkness and-even worse-pity with him, wherever he goes.

No wonder he shut himself away for years.

Fingertips graze his collarbone, soft and cool as fresh water. Caught off-guard, he swallows his breath, and Kisara glides around him until she stands in front of him, one delicate hand rested under his jaw.

Kisara's voice is soft and lyrical, rising and falling like gentle waves upon a shore. "You know that humans are incapable of grasping the concept of infinity?"

His lips purse in confusion, and he tilts his head slightly, waiting for her to go on.

"We can't comprehend the idea of _forever_. We know that it _exists,_ but we can never know _forever-_ because we are finite beings. Little dots in space. A tiny blip on the timeline." She smiles gently and leans forwards; he shivers as her soft, full lips graze his ear. "If we can't know forever-how can you make such a bold statement?"

She's clever, he has to give her that. Despite himself, his lips press together into a slight smirk. "You're not as wise as you think you are," he responds, finding himself trembling as Kisara's breath tickles his ear.

She takes a step back, resting her palms on his knees, and laughs playfully at him. Her silver-white hair spills gracefully over her shoulders and spills into his lap. "I didn't claim to know anything about _forever_ ," she points out, her dark eyes narrowing playfully.

His laugh is short-it might be mistaken for a sharp exhalation of air-but a weight is exhaled along with it. "What _do_ you know, then?"

She balances herself on her tiptoes as she leans in to kiss him. "I love you," she says simply. "That's enough for me, right now. Can it be enough for you?"

Warmth wells up inside of him, and as their lips meet, he is flooded with her light. "I love you, too."

* * *

 _I've never been terribly attached to the title of_ Extras _. I feel like_ 50 Shades of Grey _ruined all color-related titles, but I...like this title? I dunno._

 _Writing these one-shots took has taken on a life of it's own. I've learned so much about literary devices, my own voice as a writer, and a lot of random other things in between. This was always intended to be a bit of a compendium of sorts, so I'm thinking of sort of splitting this into two works-one that fit into a "relationship-building" chronology of how Seto and Kisara meet, court, and become a couple, and that path towards self-actualization (expanding on the huge gaps with new content!) and keeping a handful of the chapters in this work as little standalone one-shots, primarily dialogue-based fluff._

 _As always, I appreciate everyone who reads this, and reviews always make my day, because I'm a human and I crave validation constantly._

 _Hope you're having a great day! Love as always,_

 _Mei_


	22. Ice Cream

Kisara likes vanilla bean ice cream-she is very particular about the kind that has the tiny specks of real vanilla, even though her insistence makes Seto roll his eyes and remark to her that the "vanilla bean" is nothing but a clever marketing ploy to drive up the price of plain ice cream.

Mokuba likes strawberry ice cream, although to be fair, he likes every kind of ice cream. He likes sundaes, piled high with chocolate sauce, cherries, and whipped cream. He would just take a sugar cone if that was all that was available. He likes sugar. But especially, he likes tagging along with his big brother and Kisara on a Monday-night ice cream run, because he feels like he's getting away with something, especially when he looks at his brother's resentful scowl as he squints his eyes at the ice-cream menu.

Seto doesn't eat ice cream-especially not at one-thirty at night, from an all-night drugstore in the quiet outskirts of Domino City. _This is not a dignified activity,_ he says to Mokuba and Kisara as they pile out of his white sports car and tumble across the parking lot. Amidst an early summer heat wave, it takes until well after midnight for the air not to feel unbearably thick and cloying. Even now, in the dead of the night, the air is unusually still and placid, filled with the frantic chirping of cicadas and the occasional _rush_ of car tires along the quiet road.

He can't believe that Mokuba and Kisara talked him into getting _ice cream_ on the way home, especially in the middle of the night. Mokuba has school tomorrow, and he has a meeting at nine. His head is still swimming with yesterday's spreadsheets, and his eyelids feel heavy with sleep.

He must be getting soft.

"Hey, bro." Mokuba, holding a pink paper cup piled up with a double-scoop of strawberry cheesecake and rocky road, nudges Seto's hip. "It's your turn to order."

The boy behind the counter, wearing his uniform cap backward and a royal blue apron smudged with ice cream stains, gives Seto a vacant, expectant look, and Seto frowns, shaking his head. "It's almost two in the morning," he responds curtly. "I'll just be paying."

"Come _onnnn_." Kisara, twisting her spoon into a single scoop of vanilla ice cream topped with whipped cream and a cherry, flashes a charming grin at the boy behind the register. "Tell him he should _treat himself_."

The boy's lips purse nonchalantly, and he motions at the empty store. "I've got all night," he tells Seto. "No rush." He leans his elbows against the countertop, fixing his round, pale eyes on Seto.

 _Tchh._ Seto makes a soft noise of disapproval, glancing between Kisara, who is hiding her smile behind a mouthful of ice cream, and Mokuba, whose gleeful, mischievous giggles bubble out of him in spite of himself. A huge yawn escapes him before he can stifle it, and he arches his shoulders backwards, releasing a day's worth of tension in his neck.

How did these two manage to talk him into this, when he had been so ready to go home and fall asleep? Feeling the employee's bored gaze still trained on him, he shivers, feeling heat rise up in his cheeks.

"Fine. One scoop of"-he quickly glances down, surveying the flavors displayed on the glass-"Mint chocolate chip." A jolt of indignance sends shivers of protest down his spine as he sees Mokuba extend his hand to Kisara, and the pair of them high-five.

x

"You can't possibly be _actually_ upset," Kisara says to him as they head out the glass doors and into the balmy night. Mokuba, briefly transfixed by a gaming magazine, lags behind in the store. "How can you be _actually_ angry about ice cream?"

"Just tired." Seto yawns again, tilting his head away from Kisara. She huffs slightly with impatience-which is, admittedly, adorable-and scrambles around to stand in front of him.

"Oh, come on," she bubbles. "We've all had long days, and it's important to unwind sometimes. Mokuba had to finish that report for his science class, and you've been working _non-stop_ on the new Duel Disk system you want to launch before the holidays, and I spent the whole day"-she paused, groaning emphatically-"debugging software for the new Duel Monsters application." She grins, and her cheeks glow brighter than moonbeams in the dim light. "What's the point of being the CEO's girlfriend, if I'm just doing all this _annoying_ work?"

Seto smirks at her. "You're the one who said, _no favoritism,_ " he shoots back. "Or was that someone else?"

Kisara's lips contort into a begrudging pout. "True." She nudges him affectionately with her shoulder, adding, "I'll make coffee tomorrow morning. Thanks for being a good sport."

In spite of himself, Seto bites his lip, feeling a smile tug at his cheeks. "You know I can't deny you guys when you gang up on me like that."

"Hey, wait up, guys!" At the sound of Mokuba's sneakers on the pavement, Seto whips around just in time to dodge his brother as he zooms past. "You weren't gonna leave without me, were you?"

"Nah, Mokie," Kisara assures the boy, wrapping her arm around his shoulder. "How's finishing that giant ice cream going?"

Mokuba's expression is vaguely guilty. "There's more than I expected," he confesses.

Kisara giggles, dipping her spoon into his cup. "There's no hurry-c'mon." She guides him towards a bench on the side of the building, reaching out and pulling Seto along by his wrist as she goes.

x

"You know any constellations?" Mokuba asks, resting his head against the back of the bench to stare up at the stars. The remainder of his ice cream is melting into a puddle in his cup, abandoned on the bench next to him. Kisara sits with her legs tucked against her chest, and her chin resting on her knees.

Kisara shakes her head. "Maybe Seto does," she offers hopefully.

"Nope."

"Well-alright." Kisara's voice sounds slightly dismayed, and she unfolds her legs so she can lean back and get a clearer view of the stars. The three of them sit in silence for a moment, letting the starlight beat down on them from above, drowning them in soft rays of silver.

"Wait-I think I see it. The blue-eyes white dragon. Up there." Kisara points at the sky, tilting her head against Mokuba's so she can see from his perspective. "That one, the big star right there-that's the eye."

They spend a few moments deliberating before Mokuba exclaims, "Oh! Yeah-Seto, look!" Without further ado, he wraps himself around his brother's shoulders, pointing a finger at the stars.-

The stars, in all their splendor, just look like dots of light. Seto shakes his head at Mokuba. "Don't see it. Sorry."

"No, bro-come on, focus. Right"-Mokuba directs his finger at a brighter point in the sky and traces a shape in the sky. "That's the head. See?"

The soft smell of peppermint and vanilla, and the gentle pressure of a delicate chin on the top of his head, alert him to Kisara's presence behind him. "It's a little abstract, but there-there's the tail," she says softly. "I mean, you kind of have to want to see it."

For a moment infinitesimally brief, Seto sees the dragon in the sky-the eye pointed upwards as it roars mightily into the heavens, it's powerful tail curled proudly around its body. It disappears as quickly as it came, and he closes his eyes with disappointment, but when he opens them he can see it again, stretching its mighty wings. His breath catches in his throat.

"He sees it," Kisara says brightly. Her hand, delicate and cool to the touch, rests against his neck. "You saw it, didn't you?"

He nods, and as he looks away from the dragon-stars and to Mokuba and Kisara, he feels a lump rise in his throat. Their eyes are wide and joyous and look upon him with love, and he is overcome with gratitude towards them: his loyal, wide-eyed little brother, and this beautiful girl who can make dragons appear in the stars.

* * *

 _Author's Note_

* * *

I'm alive and well, and so is this story! I'm drowning in science right now, so thank you so much (really and sincerely) for being patient, and continuing to read-which you must be, if you're reading this now :P

Still on the to-do list is to rewrite some of the earlier chapters, so they match the style of the later chapters (I'm thinking I'll post them as-is somewhere else-maybe on my blog-for safekeeping, so they're not _gone forever_ :P), along with a prologue (breaking a little from the everyday, slice of life, mundane kind of aesthetic of these oneshots, because _ooh destiny_. Or something), but I'm going to keep the old chapters up as they are until I get around to changing them. Sorry for the jarring change in tense-it bothers me too, I just have a lot to do right now.

Sending good vibes your way!

Mei


	23. Uuuuuuupdate!

Hi everyone! This is Mei.

First off, thanks to everyone who's been following this one-shot collection, through its' eclectic-ness and my random and sometimes sporadic updating. I super-appreciate everyone for your support ^^

If you've been reading my author's notes (do people read those?), you'll know that a lot of this whole one-shot thing was sort of to practice different things in writing. Writing is a fun creative outlet for me, and so the past ten-ish months of getitng to experiment with different writing styles, without being tied to a plot, writing characters I love (Seto and Mokuba) and an, essentially, OC (Kisara) was an awesome exercise in learning how to do things. I've written a couple of one-shots elsewhere, experimenting with writing styles, and a short mystery/suspense story with a different Seto and Kisara in it (if you'd like to read it!)

I was blessed to meet another writer, Moonluster, through writing Blueship-y stuff. She started beta-ing me, and we bounce ideas off of one another a lot in terms of our characterizations of Seto and Kisara, the YGO world in general, and everything else. Her story, The Blue String of Fate (and it's extended universe) inspired me to try to write something a little more linear for this story's versions of Seto and Kisara...a lot of which conflicts with some of the stuff here.

So, if you want to see the story of how Seto and Kisara get together in this story, it'll be called Sparks of Blue, and it'll be an on-going work. For now, especially since a lot of the new stuff I'm writing is going to conflict with the timeline (and other stuff) for this story, I'm going to mark it as a finished work. Thanks for everyone's reviews, comments, thoughts, messages, and support! Here's to hoping I did an okay enough job for you to want to see the origin story behind the relationship between Seto and Kisara.

Much love,

Mei


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